


Hollow Promise

by irusu_u3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Basically, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Codependency, Death, Disasters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Worldbuilding, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inarizaki, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Natural Disasters, Suna Rintarou-centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a The Day After Tomorrow AU, incredible amounts of pining, many people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irusu_u3/pseuds/irusu_u3
Summary: Suna Rintarou witnesses it all -- from pure greed and arrogance to devestating losses, when all he ever wanted was to leisurely live his life at his own pace, preferably together with a certain Miya Osamu, in the distant future.Yet on their way to Tokyo in preparation for the Spring Tournament, an abnormal hail storm turns their world upside down.The falling ice is only the beginning however, as the stranded volleyball team of Inarizaki High attempts to reach Tokyo, conquering further disasters and losing friends in its wake.When the world freezes over and your last moments are spent with your beloved, what words could you ever tell them?[Updates are random, no schedule.]
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 74
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Prepare yourself, Riseki,” Ginjima grimly told their only first year, sympathetically patting his back as he walked past, stepping up inside the bus after Omimi.  
> “It’s a tough day ahead of you.”
> 
> “But also very exciting, right?” Atsumu chimed in, “First time to Tokyo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in everyone, this is going to be an angst-filled, deadly journey based on my favorite disaster movie, The Day After Tomorrow!  
> Give it a watch if you have the chance, I highly recommend it.
> 
> You don't need to have watched the movie to fully enjoy this story though!  
> I'm not going to dive deep into how these natural disasters came to be, which will be explained in the movie, but for this fic it isn't actually necessary to know as long as not knowing doesn't bother you.
> 
> But anyway, I've always been a huge fan of disaster movies so it was only a matter of time I write a disaster fic.
> 
> Featuring SunaOsa and the entirety of Inarizaki, and perhaps some others down the line. . .  
> Make sure to read the tags if you haven't yet!
> 
> Please remember that kudos and comments seriously motivate me to write more, and I hope you'll like this fic!

“Rin, come and look at this.”

Suna tilted his head, biting down onto his water bottle’s cap, chewing and considering.

The balls of his feet felt sore, and Osamu was seated on a bench a few meters away, so the chances of him actually getting up to see whatever his teammate and best friend wanted to show him were dwindling by the second.

This sentiment changed when a waft of sour sweat invaded his nose, reminding Suna once again that the gym was not the best place to doze off in.  
He scrunched up his nose, and glared up at the source of this stench.

“You’re ruining the view,” Suna said, “Go stink up the place elsewhere.”

Begrudgingly, he leaned forward and clambered to his feet, somewhat clumsily standing up.  
His ankles crackled under his weight, and he inwardly cringed.

“Suna, the fuck’s yer problem? We’re all tired, no need to be so bitchy about it!”

Miya Atsumu, the literal bane of his existence.  
Naturally, the blonde didn’t budge, which is exactly what Suna expected and exactly why he, against his earlier consideration, stood up to join and humor Osamu.

He slid across the shiny gymnasium floor, rolling his eyes at their setter in passing, and slumping down next to Osamu on the sideline bench.  
Suna stretched out his long legs languidly, back bent forward in a curve that was undoubtedly ruining his spine.  
His empty water bottle hung idly in between his legs.

“I think the entire world is playin’ a prank on me,” Osamu admitted, shoving his phone in Suna’s lap.  
A large crack ran from one corner of the screen to the other, an unfortunate victim of one of the many brawls between the twins.  
It was largely constructing the view, and Suna truly wondered why he hadn’t dragged Osamu into the nearest electronics shop in Tokyo to get a new phone yet.

His friend expectantly gestured at the screen, a little bit impatient.

Suna was painfully aware of the hot warmth radiating off of Osamu’s skin, and the ridiculously small amount of inches between their bodies.

After-practice basking was not a good time to get all close and comfortable.

Osamu’s phone was opened up on a news site.  
In and on itself, that wouldn’t be a weird thing, but Osamu’s interests were limited to food only as far as Suna knows -- not as far as Atsumu knows, but that’s besides the point and a subject more private -- and he could think of no plausible reason as to why Osamu would be casually checking the news.

Suna knew his friend, and he knew Osamu was fairly simple-minded.  
Which wasn’t an insult, really.  
Suna rather liked how straight-forward he was.

Then he read the headline.  
It was written in English.

“. . . ‘Drilling In Antarctica Splits Major Ice Shelf. . . ?’

“Exactly,” Osamu said, rather calmly for how much doom the article’s title spells.  
“Ya think it’s real?”

Suna handed the phone back to its owner, making a mental note about forcing him to get a new one sometime soon.

“No. I don’t trust American news. Those headlines are only there to grab your attention and the contents are out of context and exaggerated, all the time.”

The gray-haired male snorted, shrugging lightly.  
“Right. It sounds pretty dumb.”

Suna peeked at Osamu.  
He watched him launch his cracked phone into his bag on the floor in front of him, his face impassive or even bored, if Suna didn’t know better.  
But Suna did, and he saw hunger in Osamu’s eyes.

He glanced at the clock on the wall across the gym.  
He had time for a detour.

“. . . Wanna get ramen together?”

Osamu’s eyes glinted in childlike awe, the entire article forgotten about in an instant.  
He opened his mouth, but before he could agree --

“Ramen sounds like a _godsent_ right now!”

Suna barely suppressed the urge to snap Atsumu’s neck right then and there.  
If not for Kita keeping a watchful hawkeye over them even now, at the end of a practice match, he probably would’ve given in.

“Nobody asked you,” Suna opted to say instead.  
“You’d only disturb the peace with your _cryin_ ’ and _whinin_ ’ about Itachiyama’s ace.”

“I’ll get him to reply to me someday,” Atsumu promised, “There’s only so many kaomoji-filled good morning texts Omi-Omi can handle, y’know?”

“Poor ‘Tsumu, how pathetic. He’s gravely underestimating Sakusa.”  
Osamu grabbed his bag, held his hand out to Suna who firmly grabbed it, and pulled his deadweight up to his own feet.  
“Who’d want to go out with a swine like ya, anyway.”

“Ditto, _younger twin brother_ of mine! Tell me again when you get a girl-or-boyfriend before me,” Atsumu bit back, “And don’t talk about me like I’m not right here!”

Everybody who even remotely knew the twins, knew Atsumu took few things to heart, and one of his brother’s insults wouldn’t ever be one of them.  
In a passing thought, Suna supposed that’s where the two might relate a lot more than they thought.  
Their tough skins and intense interests were very present in both, albeit in different ways.

Atsumu was _too_ intense for Suna, though.  
Arguably, Osamu was just as if not more intense, and he knew that deep down, Osamu was worse than Atsumu -- the very important difference was that Osamu hid it better, and was less obnoxious about it.

Suna concluded that, in the end, he’d rather feel Atsumu’s wrath than Osamu’s.

The two of them calmly sauntered over to the showers, leaving Kita to deal with a seething Atsumu, ready to let the shower heat soothe their sore muscles and follow this Wednesday up with nostalgic, homely ramen from a food stall.

Suna let the steam completely engulf him, watching the copious amounts of water drain at his feet and sighing gratefully at the relief it brought his body and aching limbs.

He wasn’t able to let his mind wander like usual.  
Osamu was padding around naked somewhere close, both of them the firsts to shower and helplessly waiting for their other teammates to join them somewhere down the line.

It wasn’t the first time they ended up like this, but the repeats definitely didn’t curb his nerves.

Suna listened in silence, focused on the beige floor tiles.

The second shower turned off.

Suna couldn’t help but allow a smile -- the promise of ramen was too tempting for Osamu to even consider taking a long, well-deserved shower.

After a good few minutes, Suna followed his friend’s lead and turned off his own shower, heading towards the lockers.  
Osamu was facing away from him, pulling a fuzzy sweater over his head and giving Suna only a mere glimpse at his back muscles -- still very effective.

Perhaps Suna was taking his tiny crush a bit too far.

He couldn’t honestly call it ‘tiny’ anymore.

Without as much as glancing in Osamu’s direction, he changed clothing, gathered his uniform and put his Nike sports shoes into his bag.

Just as he zipped the bulging bag up, the rest of their team entered, chatting and discussing tomorrow’s details.  
Suna didn’t bother hiding he wanted to get out of there, quickly escaping out of the changing room and gym with his belongings.

He felt comfortably warm at the sight of Osamu, patiently waiting for him at the entrance of Inarizaki High, leaning against the stone gate, properly illuminated in the orange glow of sunset.

Suna tightened his grip on the straps of his sports bag, unconsciously speeding up.

Osamu turned when spotting him, lazilly grinning and betraying his mood, when Suna joined him at his side.  
They didn’t need to discuss where to get their ramen; it was always the same stall, closer to the Miya household than it was Suna’s.

Cozily plastered next to each other in the small space, their bodies cooled down in the evening breeze, surrounded by few fellow patrons, lit up by dim, yellow lanterns decorating the shop.

Suna gave the owner a quick, respective bow when taking his bowl, thanking for the food and wasting no time digging in.  
He felt Osamu’s stare, eyeing his ramen like a hawk fixated on its prey, and it took Suna a lot of self-restraint to not smirk.

A minute later, both had their food, its aroma making their mouths water, warming up their bellies and satisfying their hunger to varying degrees.  
Suna wouldn’t need much dinner when getting home, but believed Osamu’s stomach to be a black hole, and doubted one bowl of ramen would fill him up as much.

In their first year at Inarizaki High, Osamu quickly found out about Suna’s small bentos, and took to feeding Suna with the extra snacks he brought along like a mother bird doting on her chick.  
At some point down the line, when they entered the true ‘best friends’-phase, he started making both his own and Suna’s lunches, and the latter accepted it with no resistance -- it was a well-known fact that Osamu’s cooking skills were extraordinary.

As it would turn out, it was Osamu’s cooking that started Suna’s downfall into the ‘falling in love’-phase.  
Or, better yet, it was the way girls flocked to his best friend when they discovered his culinary talents, starting out with innocent questions about recipes and tips, then spiraling into asking Osamu to taste the extra portions of food they made themselves -- specifically for him.

Every single lunch break, there would be at least one of them, and it had driven Suna absolutely insane and melancholic.

Then Osamu started turning them all down, suddenly, with no clear reason as to why -- and Suna didn’t ask.  
His prayers had been answered, and he was satisfied.

The only noises in the ramen stall were the murmuring of other people, the sizzling of meat and the bubbling of boiling water.

These comfortable silences were only shared with the grey-haired twin.  
Neither were a fan of small-talk, and neither expected to be blamed by the other for not filling these moments of peace.

“Spring Tournament in two days,” Osamu stated, in between bites.

Suna nodded, “Right. Sakusa’s gonna be there, that fucker.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi irritated Suna to no end.  
As Inarizaki’s middle blocker, one of Suna’s most prominent jobs in a match was to shut down a spike, along with manipulating aces and hitters into diverting their spike to where Akagi was.

Itachiyama’s ace spiker just happened to be among the top three of Japan.

“He’s still a second-year like us.”  
Osamu looked at him, sideways.  
Suna hesitantly met his stern gaze -- stern to Suna, _impassive_ to anyone else.  
“Every spike can be blocked, every block can be surpassed.”

Suna snatched an egg slice out of Osamu’s bowl with his chopsticks.  
The offended didn’t even bother acting upset or surprised.  
If he were here with Atsumu for some ungodly reason instead, the blonde would’ve made a fuss about it.

Differences.

If _the_ Miya Osamu let you steal his food, you passed the ultimate trial of friendship.

“Will we become this year’s champions, ‘Samu?”

Osamu tilted his bowl and shoveled the last noodles inside his mouth in a way that could be considered skillful.  
He placed it back down to the counter, swallowing slowly.

“Perhaps,” he said.  
“. . . One point can decide an entire match. Nobody can know for sure whether they will win or lose.”

Suna rolled his eyes.  
Such a wishy-washy answer, typically Osamu.

“Never would’ve thought of that, oh Wise Master of _‘No-Fucking-Shit’_.”

It wasn’t that Osamu didn’t care for volleyball, Suna knew, but it was definitely different for him than it was for Atsumu, or even Suna himself.

Naturally, everyone of their team wanted to win and score and taste victory.  
But it was made clear to Suna volleyball wasn’t a real career choice for Osamu, and wouldn’t be something he’d passionately pursue in the future, after high school.

There was the possibility Osamu might be swayed by Atsumu at some point, but he doubted his best friend would lie to himself and his brother like that.

And it was fine, Suna found himself accepting this of Osamu, as well.  
They might never fight rivals on a volleyball court together again after graduating, but it was unrealistic to expect everyone who plays volleyball to pursue it as a career.

He would be a very shitty friend if he didn’t understand.

Besides, after this year’s Spring Tournament, they still had a year left at Inarizaki High.

Their seniors would be gone -- Kita, Aran, Akagi and Omimi.  
But they still had time.  
To decide what comes next.

“Don’t think too much, I can see yer brain-gears churnin’,” Osamu interrupted his thoughts, shifting in his stool before standing up.

Suna stared inside his nearly empty bowl -- he’d left the soupy remnants behind, too picky to shove it down his throat.

They paid and left the food stall behind, exhaustion of today creeping up on them both as they parted ways, heading towards their homes to get a good night’s sleep.

They’ll need it, if they ever wanted to defeat Itachiyama.

**xxx**

It was 5 am and Suna’s peripheral vision was halved due to heavy eyelids, and every step felt like an uphill climb.  
Hands stuffed inside his pockets, leaving no skin for unwanted coldness, he wished for nothing more than to curl up inside his coat.

Only Kita managed to get some kind of response out of him when double-checking everyone’s presence and belongings, consisting of a few well-placed hums and a lot of groaning.

Their chauffeur, a middle-aged man with a shiny, golden wedding ring around his finger, impatiently tapped the steering wheel, glancing at coach Kurosu and occasionally Kita.  
The engine of the bus whirred softly in the cool morning air, warmed up and ready to get them to their destination; a hotel near the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, where the Spring Tournament would be held, and where they’d have to go up against Itachiyama Institute’s volleyball team.

That is, as long as they didn’t lose a match till they got to them, but Suna wasn’t too worried about that one.  
Inarizaki was a strong team, and he held faith in every single one of his teammates.

To no one's surprise, it were the Miya twins who held them up, arriving fashionably late, hauling their luggage behind them, dumping it in the luggage compartment and neither looking apologetic about it in the slightest.

Crumbs of rice stuck to the corners of Atsumu’s mouth, while Osamu still had an entire onigiri minus a bite-sized chunk in one hand.

At least the twins seemed more awake than anyone else, safe for coach Kurosu.

Osamu’s grey hair was a complete mess, however.  
Tufts and strands stuck out in every which way, seperate parts swiped into clashing directions.  
He definitely hadn’t bothered brushing or even attempting to control the chaos unfolding courtesy of his bed hair.

Suna thought he looked cute like that.  
It made Osamu give off a more childish, aloof vibe, careless about his appearance and effortlessly handsome.

Unlike Suna, who definitely had to work a few miracles every weekday morning to transform himself into something remotely presentable.

“I told you both yesterday! Arrive late, and you’ll be the ones carrying the luggage from the bus into the hotel and up to the floor we’ll be staying in!”

Their coach seemed more unsurprised than angry when he reminded the two of his threat yesterday in anticipation of exactly this situation, and Suna might’ve even detected a bit of fondness in his accompanying sigh.

“And you’re not allowed to have the porter help out!”

At this, Atsumu inhaled through his nose, sniffing loudly -- he didn’t dare defy their coach, though.

Oomi, their other coach, had gone up to the chauffeur into the bus, presumably informing him everyone was present and ready.

Aran sighed in tandem, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

When Oomi gestured that everyone could finally go inside, it was Aran who nudged Kita to get his attention in the middle of a yawn he desperately tried to cover up, who then clapped his hands once..

The noise got everyone’s heads turning, to listen to their captain.

Coach Kurosu already sauntered over towards the bus, muttering to himself about ‘those damned Miya’s, every single time’, and choosing a seat at the front, shivering.

“As some of you might remember from last year, it’s going to take roughly nine to ten hours to reach Tokyo City,” he said, “And since it’s early and most of you look like brain-dead zombies, we’ll spend the first few hours in relative peace and quiet. Our coaches have taken care of food and drinks, and the bus will have multiple short breaks along the way.”

Confirming hums and nods rose, the second years remembering the grueling trip very well -- none of them had taken Aran and Kita’s warnings very seriously, regarding taking along a few things for entertainment purposes, and had to sit out the ride either sleeping or aimlessly staring out of the windows.

It was only because they took every chance to leave the bus to stretch that they were in a good enough condition to not incur any muscle-related injuries and feel fit enough to practice before the tournament.

Suna would never forget the literal pain in his ass when they finally left the bus and breathed in the disgustingly stuffy, heavy air of Tokyo City.

“Prepare yourself, Riseki,” Ginjima grimly told their only first year, sympathetically patting his back as he walked past, stepping up inside the bus after Omimi.  
“It’s a tough day ahead of you.”

“But also very exciting, right?” Atsumu chimed in, “First time to Tokyo?”

“Ah, yes. . .”  
Riseki wore a frown, undoubtedly intimidated after Gin’s words.  
He was a little bit taller than Atsumu -- _and Osamu_ \--, but as the only first-year in their team, he was looked upon as everyone’s shared apprentice, being taught bits and pieces by both second- and third years.

It’d taken a while for him to feel truly comfortable with his place in the team, haunted by a fear from his middle school, but eventually coaxed out of his shell by none other than Miya Atsumu.  
The elder twin had proven to be a stern but generally helpful teacher, setting his expectations regarding his spikers from the start directly straight.

But whenever the blond forgot his role as both an upperclassman and a teammate to Riseki, and became too heated or harsh in his explanations or teachings, Kita, Aran or Osamu would be sure to generously remind him.

“‘Tsumu, if ya breathe loud enough,” Osamu threatened, “I’ll text mom and tell her yer keepin’ everyone awake in the bus.”

“Of course ya would.”  
Rolling his eyes, Atsumu pulled a pair of wireless earbuds from his coat’s pocket, smugly dangling the case in front of his twin, along with his smartphone.  
“. . . Even I don't want a repeat of last year.”

“Your parents are awake at half five in the morning?”  
Suna hopped inside the single-decker bus, respectfully looking away when their chauffeur yawned with his mouth wide open, either not caring or simply unaware he was visible from every possible direction, both from inside and outside the vehicle.

Osamu followed him right after, sighing happily at the cozy warmth it provided, shuffling like a penguin through the aisle rows of double seats.  
“Mom is, yeah. Wanted to see us off, and once she’s awake, she can’t fall back asleep anymore, so. . .”

The bus’s interior was mostly tinted hues of dark red and the occasional metallic black, from the aisle’s carpet to the soft, cushion-y seats, matching the volleyball jerseys some of them currently wore.  
Suna had found it too thin to wear in the early morning, so he’d opted to pack it together with his remaining luggage.

Osamu wasn’t wearing his either, though most likely because of inconvenience rather than sensitivity to cold.

In the far back of the bus, they heard Atsumu half-whispering half-yelling about wanting a window seat, protesting against Kita who’d taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the older twin, taking one for the team.

Without needing to ask or say a single word, Suna slid into a window seat near the doors at the center of the bus, and Osamu flopped into the seat beside him, the soft but undeniable crinkling of a plastic bag rustling when he did.

Suna eyed his best friend, amused.  
“. . . You didn’t.”

“Of course I did,” the other replied, glancing around a bit secretive, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand to get rid of the wet coating the onigiri had left behind.

Both shut their mouths when Kita walked past them back to the front, speaking a few words to Akagi in a hushed tone.

When the coast seemed clear, Osamu reached inside his pocket to pull out just enough of the bag to show off the brand of candy he’d managed to sneak past coach Kurosu’s and Kita’s perceptive ‘suspicious Miya twins activity’ radars.

“Jelly fruit sticks were too risky,” the grey-haired student added.

“So you opted to take Awadama instead.”  
“You can have the pineapple ones.”  
“Fine, but I also want some of the grapes..”  
“Deal. Pleasure doin’ business with ya, Sunarin, sir.”

Sunarin.  
A nickname laced with comfort and uniqueness, really, because only two people in Osamu’s world were worthy enough to receive one that didn’t connect to an insult in some way.  
His own twin brother, of course, was the first to receive one, but Atsumu also had a myriad of taunting nicknames to go along with ‘Tsumu’.

“You’re unbelievable,” Suna told him, shifting around in his seat to make himself comfortable, nestling into the sturdy softness.  
“But am I surprised? No.”

Osamu smiled the kind of smile that, would he be anyone else, could barely pass a sign of positivity in the first place, with the corners of his lips only slightly curled upwards.  
But he _wasn’t_ anyone else, and with Osamu’s constant neutral gaze, or as Atsumu called it, _resting bitch face_ , such a smile had the power to twist Suna’s stomach into a fluttery mess.

Like his insides were melting.  
Which sounded quite disturbing in retrospect, but he couldn’t find the right words to describe how he ached when such a smile was directed at him.

No -- with Osamu, Suna’s body felt like a wildfire, burning and burning away.

“Pineapple,” he demanded in a murmur, watching Osamu slowly tear the smallest of openings in the bag with candy, looking like what must be the most adorable criminal in the world.

Osamu dropped a wrapper with a round, yellow candy inside into Suna’s waiting hand, taking a red one -- _apple flavor_ \-- for himself, before quickly stuffing the bag underneath his seat.

When everyone had finally settled, the bus buzzed to life and a puff of air hissed, shaking the vehicle softly before slowly steering away from Inarizaki High and onto the road.

They had nine hours of sleepy restlessness to look forward to.  
There was no better way to describe all those hours sitting in a bus, though Suna expected it would be slightly more bearable due to them coming prepared, unlike last year.

He anticipated reaching the dozing phase with dread, because he knew he’d be shaken awake by a bump in the road or a car honking or when Osamu and Atsumu inevitably found something to argue about despite sitting rows of seats apart.

Suna couldn’t rely on the landscape outside to distract him either, as they hadn’t left the district yet and everything was still recognizable and boring to look at.

The burst of flavor from the sugar bomb that was the Awadama pineapple candy faded, replaced by mild sizzling on his tongue, the aftermath.

Osamu quickly snagged a few more from underneath his chair and hid them inside his sweater’s kangaroo pocket, making his provision accessible to Suna as well.

“I will trade one of my earbuds for two grapes,” Suna offered, retaining a soft, low tone.  
“And I‘m gonna try and sleep. Dare wake me up, and I won't practice with you when we arrive -- throughout the entire duration of the tournament.”

Quite the empty threat.

“. . . Yeah, cause ya definitely need yer beauty sleep.”  
“Says the one with bed hair rivaling Kuroo ‘Rooster Hair’ Tetsurou. Atsumu at least tried.”  
“Damn. I trusted ya. Even thought we were friends.”  
“Take the earbud and shut _yer_ mouth.”

Osamu snickered, but took the left earbud and placed it inside his ear, softly knocking into Suna to check the songs he was choosing on his phone.

The latter sniffed in protest and pushed back against Osamu, scrolling through the lists of this year’s top songs.

The scent of Osamu’s deodorant wafted into, no, invaded Suna’s nose.  
He could hear his calm breathing brushing against his cheek, the rise of his chest against his arm, steady and quiet.

He put in his own earbud, and pressed play.

After what seemed like three different Ice Ages had passed, Osamu finally moved away, leaning back into his seat and settling down, the tension rolling off his shoulders.

He closed his eyes.

Suna lingered for a few seconds, looking at him, waiting until the levels of shame and self-awareness rose to a limit before turning away and doing the same.

He only wished to sleep for a few hours, to not think about Osamu or the Spring Tournament or that cursed brand deodorant that claimed a place in his nose and didn’t even consider leaving.

Three hours passed.

Suna roused at some point, to take a few gulps from his water bottle and plop one of the promised grape candy in his mouth.  
He also took out his earbud, wringing the knob out of his ear and cringing at the tiny shots of pain courtesy of his pushed apart, forcibly widened ear canal.  
He turned off the music, pocketing his phone.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse within these few hours, rain pouring and creating soft, rhythmic taps against the bus’s ceiling and windows.  
The raindrops paved paths against the clear glass, reflecting Suna’s clouded, somewhat dopey expression back at him.

The drastic change made him frown, irritated -- he was planning on watching the landscape and retreat into his mind with his own thoughts, but who knows how long the rain would keep at it and hide the roads and cities from him.

However, the grey hues, dreary atmosphere and desaturated colors also made him feel happily cozy, glad to be warm and dry inside the bus.

Facing his fears, he turned to Osamu.

Dead asleep.

The younger twin’s head was lulled to one side, arched towards Suna, his mouth parted slightly and his earbud silently in his lap.

Suna unattractively snorted, not surprising himself by the amount of fondness he felt at the sight, ending in a sweet hum.

He wanted to shuffle over and move Osamu’s awkwardly bent neck over to his shoulder.  
Wanted to fix his still just as messy, fluffy grey hair, properly swaying it to one side instead of all over the place.

It was kind of annoying.

All of it.

But Suna couldn’t get enough, addicted to how he could comfortably revel in Osamu’s presence, to be very much in love but still safely remain his best friend.

He didn’t really need to change.

They moved at their own pace, leisurely taking their time in life, not beating themselves up on studies, not hyper-focused on volleyball.

Maybe his friendship with Osamu didn’t pose him any challenges, and maybe some might consider that a negative thing.

It didn’t challenge him to come out of his comfortable shell, no forcing him to partake in parties or celebrations and no fear about being left behind -- but that’s what Suna loved about what they had; it was comfortable.

It was safe.

Perhaps he should be the one to initiate an abnormality in their day-to-day routine, to seize an opportunity for himself.

Just to see what it’d be like, to change.

Suna swallowed, thick saliva sliding down his throat.

Then reached out, shifting closer and cupping the back of Osamu’s tilted head, feeling the short hairs of his undercut, while the silky, dyed strands fell over his fingers.

With a slight bit of force behind his pull, Osamu’s body naturally slid into him, his head perfectly settling onto Suna’s shoulder, visibly relieved from the previous strain on his neck.

One of the Awadama candies had fallen out of Osamu’s pocket and lay into the dent between their seats.

A shaky, stuttery huff wisped past Suna’s lips, willing his nerves to calm.

When he saw that, after a few minutes, his friend hadn’t even stirred, he sunk back into the cushion, took a deep breath and relaxed his tense muscles.

He prayed nobody decided to take a tour through the bus and see them like this.  
Suna could just blame it on Osamu, that he’d simply fallen to his shoulder on accident, in his sleep -- but it’d be stuck in Suna’s mind.

Carefully, he too, tilted his head, and pressed his cheek into Osamu’s soft hair.

Suna closed his eyes, and fell asleep once more to the pitter-patter of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thought so. Miyami, our chauffeur over there, is convinced the traffic won’t move anytime soon, so we only have two options,” Kurosu continued.  
> “Either we remain here, in the bus, and painstakingly wait on the traffic.”
> 
> “And the other option?”
> 
> “We retrieve our luggage, take the essentials and go out, and attempt to reach Tokyo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate the amount of support y'all gave the first chapter, I decided to release the second chapter a bit earlier than usual!  
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, they literally make my day <3
> 
> If you were curious about any update schedules -- I don't have one.  
> I write as I go, and I publish a new chapter anytime I'm at least halfway done with the next.
> 
> Please enjoy the start of a horrific spiral downwards into an icy hell.

“Sunarin.”

Osamu’s soft-spoken call, underlined with urgency, woke Suna up almost instantly, detecting the lack of relaxation in his voice.

Blinking, the light pouring through the window was dim, as grey as before he’d fallen asleep again, accompanied by an even heavier rain, making it easy for him to get a hold of his surroundings.

Suna promptly remembered what he’d done, and shot up like a deer caught in the headlights.

His eyes were drawn to the dark patch on the shoulder area of Osamu’s hoodie, and inadvertently blushed, groaning in agony.

The tables had turned while asleep, meaning the other had woken up before him and lent his shoulder to Suna in turn -- that was _his_ drool, and Osamu had let him.

“‘m sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed and quickly wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater.  
“. . . You should’ve woken me up.”

Osamu didn’t reply, and that’s when Suna popped out of his hiding place, his sweater, and did a double-take.

The spiker was staring at the ceiling above them, frowning, poorly hiding his confusion.  
Noticing Suna’s stare, he turned to him and held a shushing finger to his lips, urging Suna to stay quiet.

“Look up and listen,” Osamu said, “Strange sounds. It woke me up.”

“. . . Alright.”  
Suna did as he was told, listening as his eyes scanned the bus’s ceiling.  
Half his mind was still occupied with the fact that Osamu let him drool on his shoulder, while the other ran a few possibilities as to what ‘strange sounds’ on the road could ever be.

Rocks?  
A bird?  
Not much else could reasonably drop on top of a driving bus.

Osamu looked to him to see if he heard, but Suna shrugged.  
He continued listening, trying to drown out the noise of the rain in search of any abnormal noise.

Then, undeniably, a heavy object fell onto the bus.  
He copied Osamu’s expression, and frowned, opening and closing his mouth like a blubbering fish.

Another thump, and this time, Suna clearly saw the light dent it’d made into the ceiling.

“What,” Suna said, nearly snapping his neck when facing Osamu, “the _hell_ is able to do that?”

“As if I know,” the other offered.  
“It’s been goin’ on for awhile now, and I’ve been checking to see if anyone else noticed. Pretty sure our chauffeur did, but he’s not gonna sow panic on a whim.”

“Osamu, it’s heavy enough to crush into the steel-fucking-ceiling of a _bus_.”

Suna couldn’t help but check the ceiling, again.  
The next impact made the other next to him flinch, barely noticeable, disturbed.

“I’ll tell coach,” Osamu decided, moving out into the aisle, plastic candy wrappers fluttering down to the floor.  
He almost lost balance as the road bumped right then and there, gripping the seat in front of him just in time.

Suna peeked over the rows in silence, watching his friend shuffle to the front of the bus.

An ugly nervousness swam in his stomach, churning in unease.

His mind ran blank on options, on solutions and on answers.

Suna’s fingers cramped up as if his hand was tightly holding onto something, which it wasn’t.

Osamu woke coach Kurosu up, talking in a soft voice and gesturing up to the ceiling.

The chauffeur briefly glanced over his shoulder, his expression showing exactly how Suna felt.

Then Kita walked past and joined their coach, trying to temper a gradually growing frantic Osamu, whose voice started to get louder and louder.

Absentmindedly, Suna bit his bottom lip, keeping his eyes on the group, faintly hearing husky whispering all around him.

“What’s going on?” Riseki asked out loud, destroying the bubble of subdued confusion single-handedly.

Nobody answered.

The bus came to a sudden halt, making Suna bump face-first into the back of the seat in front of him, dealing a devastating blow to his nose.  
Grumbling, he rubbed the bridge between his eyes, squinting at the sting.

A hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his seat, only to angrily exhale when he saw the culprit was Atsumu, and shoved his arm away.

“Look outside,” the older twin said, a curt nod towards the window.  
The way his voice lacked its usual jovial tones unsettled Suna.

All around the bus, bright red and white lights of cars beamed through the rain, honking their horns as if they were stuck in an everyday traffic jam.  
Water flooded the highway, reaching centimeters up to the car wheels, like a dark, murky river.

This sight wouldn’t have concerned Suna if there weren’t enormous, serrated blocks of ice, some the size of volleyballs, resting on top of said cars and continuing to rain down upon them, occasionally bursting into smaller, sharper shards on impact and shooting away in random directions at a deadly speed.

Plastered against the bus’s window, he tried to see as far as he could, but the rain had created a heavy mist surrounding everything, and obscuring his vision to a few meters.

He watched as the dark blue car down underneath flickered its light, just as a sharpened chunk of ice pierced through its windshield, the glass shattering and creating an intricate spider web.  
The car’s headlights instantly turned off.

Suna’s heartbeat constricted his throat, and scrambled away from his seat into Osamu’s, away, then into the lane, nearly toppling into Atsumu.

“What the hell,” he breathed, tearing his eyes away, goosebumps running across his skin.  
He held onto the armrest like his life depended on it, trying to control his breathing.  
“What the _hell_.”

“Online,” Atsumu started, uneasy, “They’re talkin’ about -- about rampant temperatures across the globe, and -- some massive storm and hurricanes and -- ”

Crawling to his feet, Suna searched for a mop of grey hair, which he found stumbling towards them.

“Bad news,” Osamu helpfully stated once he reached Suna.  
“We’re in the middle of the worst recorded storm in history.”

“Yeah, kinda noticed already,” the latter weakly replied, his usual snark lost in translation.

Gin pushed Riseki along with him, followed by Ren and Akagi, forming a group in the middle of the bus, squished together in the lane.  
Kosaku and Aran joined them coming from the front.

Suna saw his own feelings reflected on their faces and in their eyes.  
Their comfortable reality was falling apart right in front of them, this much was clear.  
It wasn’t normal, such a storm as the one they were caught in doesn’t -- _shouldn’t_ , exist.

He saw Aran glancing up, and couldn’t help but do the same, despite being aware of what to expect.

The amounts of dents had multiplied, just as the implications with knowing exactly how they came to be.

“Everyone, sit down.”  
Aran’s calm voice was like a beacon, grounding them through their confusion.  
“There’s no need to panic. This bus is a relatively safe place to be right now.”

“Relatively,” Ren scoffed, shaking his head as he crashed down into a seat, soon hesitantly followed by the rest.  
Suna opted to stand like Aran, while Osamu pushed the armrest up and out of the way, settling back in his original place, sitting up straight and tense.

“We’re caught in the middle of a hailstorm,” Aran continued to explain, “But, well -- obviously not an average one, with ice stones large enough to render cars immobile.”

“How far away from Tokyo are we?”  
“Around 2 to 3 hours.”  
“So, we’re fucked.”  
“Come on, don’t be like that -- ”  
“I think I saw someone die.”

Suna swallowed, everyone’s heads turning to him.  
He inhaled deeply, looking away.  
“. . . Ice shard through the windshield, and the entire car fell silent and dark.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agreed, “I saw it too. Like, it was honkin’ and shit and then this gigantic piece just -- ”

As if collectively agreeing, nobody said a word, letting this information sink in, falling silent but completely undoing Aran’s previous attempt at damage control.

No matter how much he’d reassured them they were safe, the true gravity of the situation seeped into their minds, spreading a kind of fear like a virus sparked by hopelessness; when death comes too close, Suna thought it was fair to panic.

“‘Tsumu, can you call mom?”

Family, friends, dad -- how was the situation at home?  
How was the situation in Tokyo?

“Can’t, wasted all my data on Omi-Omi.”  
Atsumu’s attempt at a joke only resulted in Osamu shooting him an irritated glare.  
“Hey, I’m not lyin’!”

“Lovesick dickwad,” the younger grumbled, grabbing his own still just as cracked phone.

The once unnoticeable clangs of the ice onto the bus somehow turned into deafening explosions to Suna, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the mild drops of rain.  
He couldn’t focus on anything else, his ears always drawn back and seeking the noise out.

Akagi rapid-fired texts on his phone, tapping away with no breaks, presumably trying to contact family.

“Mom?”  
Osamu sighed in relief, even smiling when he heard his mother’s voice.  
“. . . Yeah, we’re fine. We’re stuck in a traffic jam, or somethin’ -- Do you know what’s going on?

Atsumu leaned over and pressed his ear to the other side of Osamu’s phone, trying to pick up as much of his mother’s voice as possible, knocking into him.  
Osamu initially wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he couldn’t blame his brother for wanting to talk to her, either -- who knows how long their connection could hold up.

“. . . It’s. . . all around the world?”

Suna perked up, eyes blown wide.

“No, no -- we’re stuck, we’re stuck 3 hours away from Tokyo, we can’t --”  
Osamu quickly blinked a few times, brows lowered.  
“. . . Yeah, ‘Tsumu’s right next to me. . .”  
He swallowed, glancing at his twin.  
“. . . I love you too, mom. . .”

Osamu turned away from the others, who’d mostly been respectfully looking away but obviously listening in, which was a difficult thing to avoid.  
He handed his phone to Atsumu, who desperately reached for it, before curling up in his seat, his back facing Suna.

He looked small, like that.  
Vulnerable.  
Affected.

Suna reached out, hand hovering, inches away from touching Osamu’s back.  
A primal feeling flooded his body, a want to comfort him, a need to wrap his arms around him and safely tuck Osamu away from prying eyes, acting as a protective shield --  
\-- From the corner of his eyes he saw Riseki looking at him, beyond intrigued, and setting off the self-awareness alarm in Suna’s mind.

He retracted his hand.

He felt like he betrayed Osamu when he did, but Suna refused to linger on the uncomfortable feeling of guilt.

Ren had managed to get through to his parents as well, pacing back and forth up and down the lane.

Suna didn’t want to call his own father.  
He didn’t want to hear his voice, concerned and trembling, past the breaking point; knowing he couldn’t protect his only son and family left, hours and miles apart.

“. . . Yes,” Atsumu confidently said to his mother, just loud enough for Suna to overhear.  
“. . . Of course I will, I won’t leave him alone. We’ll meet again, yeah? . . . I love ya too. . .”

“Rin.”  
Osamu rummaged around and found Suna’s phone, handing the device to him.  
“At least text yer dad, if it works.”

With a defeated sigh, Suna nodded in agreement, secretly glad Osamu put him on the spot, unlocking his phone and immediately noticing the notifications of six missed calls.

He took a deep breath, and dialed back.

 _“Rintarou?!”_  
“Yeah -- Hey, dad. Sorry for not calling back earlier.”  
_“Are you safe?”_

Suna hummed, “We’re stuck in traffic, a few hours from Tokyo. In the middle of a hailstorm with rocks as large as my hand. What -- ”

He swallowed, suddenly feeling tears burning -- which is exactly why he didn’t want to call him.

“ -- what is going on, dad? What’s happening?”

 _“Nobody seems to know the exact details,”_ his father replied, voice breaking, _“Here in Hyōgo, when I woke up, there was snow everywhere. I’ve tried to contact your mother, but she’s not picking up.”_

“Snow? What’s the news saying?”  
_“They’re showing images of cities all around the globe. Japan’s not the only country affected by these sudden weather changes -- oh, hell.”_

That was the first time Suna ever heard his father knowingly swear within earshot.  
Not that such a thing mattered anymore.

“What? Dad -- ”  
He felt like a headless chicken, continuously asking ‘what’ and ‘why’ and not knowing anything, truly helpless.  
They were trapped in a bus, stuck in traffic with ice falling from the sky and they didn’t know anything --

 _“A tornado just took out the Hollywood Sign-- Hey, Rin? Rintarou, listen to me.”_  
“I’m sorry, dad, I didn’t want to call you and hear you and -- ”  
_“It’s okay, sweetheart, it really is. You’re with your team, right? With your coach?”_

Suna wiped a boiling hot tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.  
He didn’t feel like a 16-year old anymore.  
He felt like a child again, being comforted by his father every time lightning cracks through the night, not yet knowing how to mentally ground himself.

A large hand softly reeled him in and pulled him close.  
The deodorant now smelled like a safe haven.

Leave it to Osamu to do what Suna couldn’t.

“. . . Yes, they’re all here. I think we’ll be deciding on what to do soon. . .” he trailed, “. . . There’s cars, there’s people outside -- they’re dying, dad, the hailstorm is _killing_ people -- ”

His father softly shushed him, comfortingly humming.  
_“Take a deep breath, Rin. Keep on using your smart brain and stay with your friends. The most important thing is to stay warm and -- Rin -- ”_

The line went dead, the bland but piercing beeping replacing his father’s voice.

“Sunarin,” Osamu said.  
“‘Samu,” Suna replied.

The first dropped a wrapped, purple candy into the latter’s lap.  
“I still owed ya one Awadama grape.”

Suna palmed the candy, turning it around and around with his fingers, idly.  
“. . . I drooled all over your hoodie.”

“You sure did,” the other nodded, “But I didn’t want to wake ya up.”

Suna wanted to ask, _why not?_  
But he didn’t.  
Instead, he noisily picked at the plastic wrapper until it came undone, and popped the small, violet ball inside his mouth.

Kita sat down opposite Suna, his jaw clenched and eyes casted to the floor, staying remarkably quiet.

Coach Kurosu’s gruff cough forced everyone out of their melancholic, personal bubble.  
He pushed his glasses further up his nose.  
His eyes paused to look at every single one of them, sharp and calculated, but warm, lacking any trace of lost control or panic.

“I’m sure most of you already know by now, but this unusual weather is shown to be everywhere, in every country,” he started, “It’s a worldwide crisis, and we were lucky enough to be safe inside and not having to deal with hurricanes or tornadoes.”

“So we’re really not stuck in a weird fever dream, are we?” Riseki pathetically whimpered, expression twisted.  
“This is all actually happening?”

Their coach nodded.  
“. . . It is all as real as can be. Is anyone’s phone service still working?”

“Nope, mine’s cut off completely,” Akagi spoke, chucking his phone away from him, followed by confirming nods from Aran and Gin.

“Thought so. Miyami, our chauffeur over there, is convinced the traffic won’t move anytime soon, so we only have two options,” Kurosu continued.  
“Either we remain here, in the bus, and painstakingly wait on the traffic.”

“And the other option?”

“We retrieve our luggage, take the essentials and go out, and attempt to reach Tokyo.”

Atsumu’s mouth fell open, ready to protest.  
“But we could be hit by another storm when we’re out there, and then we’re definitely done for! What if -- what if a tsunami rolls up or somethin’?!”

“Then we drown,” Kita deadpanned, “Which, in that case, we also will if we stay here. At least we’ll have a chance in Tokyo.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Aran concluded.  
“Staying here won’t do us any more good than leaving.”

Interrupting their discussion, fists bounced off of the bus’s doors, loudly slamming, urgent, and Suna scrambled over to see, just like everyone else.

A woman with a crying, young child in her arms screamed at them, splotches of vermilion red covering the left side of her face.  
Her eyes were blown wide, pupils passing over each of the students inside, pleading.

“Please let me inside! Please, please -- ”  
Her voice was muffled, muted through the glass.

Coach Kurosu barked, “Miyami, could you open the doors already?!”

But their chauffeur shook his head, pity etched into his stubborn frown.  
“Have you properly looked outside? Once I open them, half the population will want to get in!”

Suna saw it, out on the highway, and couldn’t help but see the reasoning behind Miyami’s words.

People had left their ruined cars and were left no other choice than to pray the hail wouldn’t hit them, though some intelligently hid underneath their cars instead, waiting for the storm to pass.  
Still, the offshoot shards of ice reached those people as well, only preventing deadly wounds by protecting their head with their arms.

“Open the fuckin’ doors!”  
Atsumu, seething, stepped over towards Miyami, still in his driver’s seat.  
“That’s a person, yeah? And a kid! Yer going to let a little kid die?!”

Osamu, hesitantly peeking outside a window, tugged at Atsumu’s sleeve, ushering him over.  
“‘Tsumu, you idiot, there’s -- not just that woman -- ”

Many had noticed their bus by now, and especially in how good of a condition it still was.  
It provided a strong, durable roof against the ice, the same of which could not be said about the less robust, everyday cars.

Those people dared bet their life on getting inside, because the abnormal hail hadn’t slowed down in any way.

The bus was practically surrounded.

Atsumu wasn’pacified yet, however.  
He looked over at Kurosu with disbelief, nostrils flaring and mouth parted, pushing his younger brother away.

“We’re in a _bus_ , there’s room for more than -- than thirteen people!”

Suna felt content with being safe and secure, pitying the people outside but unable to take the same, passionate stance as Atsumu; he didn’t know any of them, and there was only so much sympathy he could feel for nameless men and women.

It might be too apathetic, but these people were still strangers, and if they let in the wrong person, they could be a danger to them all.  
Still, Suna was almost swayed at the sight of the child.

Riseki yelped when the woman slumped forward, eyes rolling backwards and skull caved in by a chunk of ice.

Suna breathed in sharply, flinching at the thump of her body against the door.  
Frozen in place, when her child fell out of her arms and to the ground, hitting his head and most likely, just as dead.  
He couldn’t look away.

A splatter of blood was sprayed along the see-through door from when the woman slid forward.

Atsumu’s breathing lost its control, growing louder and heavier, trembles and shivers running across his entire body.  
His fingers violently shook as he backed away, having had a front seat on the woman’s passing.

It was Kita who pulled him to the side, wordlessly wrapping an arm around the shell-shocked blond, willing his own, shaking hands to calm.

Only when reality settled into his brother, it did into Osamu as well, the last string of normality cut when Atsumu failed to deal with the situation.

The grey-haired twin’s expression looked absolutely destroyed, displaying an array of emotions Suna has never seen in him.  
He blinked irrationally, focusing on a spot on the carpeted floor, enveloping himself in a hug.

Suna forced his eyes shut.  
In complete darkness, the past half hour flashed by him, guiding him back through a string of memories; the confusion, the panic, the fear, the unreal imagery --

“. . . According to News24 this hailstorm should end soon,” Gin spoke while holding up his phone, one of the few not outwardly panicking, whose fight-or-flight instinct had yet to be triggered.  
“. . . But they also disclose that the readings are fluctuating constantly, so own judgement should play a part as well when going out.”

Kurosu nodded at his fellow coach Oomi, “Alright. I -- I know, you all witnessed something horrific just now. You’re scared, and it’s okay to be.”

The man started a bit awkward, but gradually grew more confident into reassuring his young team.  
“We’re going to Tokyo, after this hail storm passes over. We can’t know what lays ahead. Our best bet is waiting on the military and the government to give us more information.”

“I’ve downloaded a map and marked roughly where we currently are,” Aran said, receiving a satisfied hum from Kurosu in return.  
“Miyami confirmed we already passed Mount Fuji, a bit past Gotemba in Shizuoka.”

“So, it’s going to take. . . twenty hours to reach Tokyo City, if we walk steadfast and don’t rest,” Akagi reasoned, happy to focus on anything else but the thumping all around them.  
“Give or take a few hours, we’ll be in Tokyo City in a day at best.”

Suna could barely process this information, as he felt like throwing up, listening to the gradually dwindling, whining cries right outside.  
He managed to convince his mind this was only the start, though.  
If he couldn’t get ahold of himself now, he might not survive dealing with the obstacles ahead.

“Oh,” Suna then whispered to himself, eyes wide.  
“ -- it stopped.”

“It stopped?” Atsumu repeated, revitalized when the realisation dawned upon him as well.  
“Coach!”

“What is it, Miya 1?”  
“The hail! It’s still dreary out, but -- ‘m pretty sure there ain’t any ice fallin’ from the sky anymore!”

A few hushed, optimistic whispers were exchanged between the members of Inarizaki, as Kurosu ushered Oomi to the doors at the front of the bus.  
“We’re going to take our chance, then. You guys, be ready to take the luggage from us, and decide on what you need to take along.”

Miyami, still somewhat reluctantly, pushed a button, and the doors unfolded with a hiss.  
Cool air flushed into the vehicle, as the two adults pushed through and stepped over the woman’s body from before, apprehensive and visibly perturbed.

Aran, Kita and Akagi all orderly waited to take over the luggage.  
Various bodies lay strewn around the bus, but to their imminent relief, it seemed like most people had survived.  
They saw them crawl out from underneath their cars, careful but hopeful, parents helping up their children, trying to shield them from the corpses, and couples hugging each other in relief.

The compartment unlocked and Kurosu and Oomi handed over their bags with clothing and lunch, hurried and with no time to spare.

“Try to wear as many layers of clothing as possible,” Kita advised, unzipping his own luggage and picking out multiple shirts and a sweater.  
Soon, he looked like a mismatched bodybuilder, his upper body packed wearing various clothes and his coat to top it off.

Osamu waddled up to Suna, his turtleneck peeking out from under his hoodie.  
“. . . Rin. . .”

Suna turned around, midway into adding another shirt himself, ready to berate his friend for interrupting him -- only to see him with his arms up in the air and merely a tuft of grey hair visible.

“. . . ‘m stuck. Help.”

Suna tried exceptionally hard to not laugh, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, sighing exasperated to mask his amusement.

“You’re a dick,” the brunet said, reaching out and pulling down the black t-shirt, revealing a moping Osamu.  
“And I have this sneaking suspicion you’re aware you are.”

 _This is not the time for jokes_ , he wanted to add, but then reconsidered.  
He actually felt a whole lot better, the tension ebbed away, because Osamu was still Osamu, and Suna wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” the other simply replied, zipping up his volleyball jacket with a large, white 11 printed on the back.

Suna ended up doing the same, wearing his own number 10, rapidly warming up and ready to conquer the cool, damp air outside.

Osamu then shoved a small, military-green nylon backpack towards him, already containing his own and Atsumu’s phones, the remainders of the Awadama candy, and their bentos.  
Suna added to the small collection by stuffing his phone, earbuds and wallet inside, before Osamu secured the backpack on his back.

“We’re gonna rotate wearing this thing,” he informed Suna, “Between me, you and ‘Tsumu. Every couple of hours or so.”

Suna looked back into his open bag with all the stuff he’d taken with him from home, leaving behind a pair of pants, shirts and the algebra textbook he’d taken along to try and pretend to study when they’d arrive at their hotel.

Lining up, everyone exited the bus, finally able to see up close and personal the damage the hailstorm had caused.  
Crushed cars, broken glass and, destroyed trees and grass and even small cracks in the asphalt --

The first thing Riseki did when exiting was throwing up his breakfast to the side.  
The few corpses had turned a ghastly pale, contrasting starkly with the dark red drying up on their clothes or skin.  
Most had wounds to their head, with patches of melting ice watering down the paths of blood rolling down their bodies to the asphalt.

Gin stood by Riseki and gently rubbed circles on his back, avoiding looking at any bodies.

“This is all kind of apocalyptic,” Atsumu said, clambering on top of the hood of an empty black car with a cracked windshield and crooked mirror, carefully balancing.  
He looked out in the direction they would be going -- the road to Tokyo, a 20-hour long trip of walking.  
“But it’s comparable to the aftermath of an earthquake.”

“Perhaps, but this stuff is happening all around the world.”  
Aran fiddled with the loose cords of his jacket, following Atsumu’s gaze.  
“It’s not just about one hailstorm anymore.”

Kita had wandered off to talk to a nearby young couple, a man and woman in their early twenties, their arms covered in bruises.

Suna hid his hands inside his pockets, breathing in the refreshing, cooled air, watching the breath clouds rise and dissipate.  
“I wonder how the other teams are doing,” he mumbled out loud.

“At least half of’em may be in similar situations as we are.”  
Osamu joined him at his side, arms touching, a reassuring link between them.  
“Stranded, with their only hope laying in Tokyo City.”

“Can you believe me if I say that, at this point, I’d be happy to see Sakusa’s ugly mug?”

“I definitely thought it’d take a few more hours before ya’d say that,” Osamu grinned.  
“When we get to Tokyo and miraculously find Omi, I’ll be sure to tell’im you missed him dearly.”

“And be forever condemned on the spot by Atsumu? No, thank you.”

He noticed people starting moving, walking past and leaving their cars and unimportant belongings behind for good.  
Not all were heading forward, though -- few were turning back towards Gotemba.

One of the only current positives was that at least they weren’t stranded in the middle of nowhere, as there were towns and cities all around them, providing safe places to rest and recharge, to eat and sleep.

Kita waved the couple goodbye before joining back up with his teammates.  
He seemed a bit more stable after talking to people from outside his close circle, to people in the same situation as them.

“Alright, is everyone ready?”  
Oomi hoarded everyone together like a dog herding sheep, checking up on Riseki when he joined back in, who looked a bit sickly but a lot less on edge.

Kurosu led the way with Oomi bringing up the rear.

Suna naturally fell into the same pace as Osamu, the two of them silently following, dodging and weaving through the broken down cars, joining up with the crowd of people on the highway.

The sun stood high in the sky, clearing up the mist and lighting the way ahead.

Suna looked back, only once.

He saw their chauffeur, Miyami, had also gathered up his personal belongings and abandoned his bus, but headed into the opposite direction back to the city of Gotemba.

Suna couldn’t get rid of the foreboding sensation swirling in the pit of his stomach, warning him not to get fooled by the inviting sun warming his cheeks.

A quick, sudden death might prove to be the more merciful route.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’re you feeling?”  
> A cold, fresh water bottle softly knocked against his forehead, and Suna managed to reach up and take it, greedily drinking gulps without a break.
> 
> “Terrible,” he replied.  
> “Reality has finally sunken in, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to say one important thing -- I hope you didn't come into this fic expecting a thoughtless, gorey bloodbath, because you'd be gravely mistaking my writing style.  
> Everything in the tags will happen, but see, I like proper worldbuilding and set-up.  
> I want you to care for the characters before taking them away again.
> 
> Please enjoy this new chapter!

A girl and a boy, neither older than ten, chased each other and darted past Suna, giggling and screaming.

“You’re it! Catch me if you can!” the young girl exclaimed, speeding headfirst into Osamu’s legs, who couldn’t tie his tongue in time and swore between breaths.

The two children stopped in their tracks, the boy’s grin fading when his friend looked up at the grey-haired twin with wide eyes, pursing her wobbly lips.  
Suna couldn’t really blame her -- Osamu looked pissed, exhausted and thoroughly irritated, perhaps not necessarily with the girl, but it didn’t do him any favors.

“I-I’m s-sorry, mister -- ” she tried, as intimidated tears rolled down her cheeks.  
“I didn’t m-mean -- ”

A few people nearby turned their heads towards them, alerted at her squeaky, distressed tone, a judging edge present in their eyes.

Put on the spot, Osamu desperately searched for words to say, but completely blanked out, staring down at the crying girl with an empty expression.

Her companion had already scurried off, leaving her behind.

Suna took a step towards them, pitying him and ready to take over, but before he could, Atsumu shoved his inept, socially dysfunctional brother aside and gingerly bent down through his knees to meet the girl on eye level.

“Hey there,” the blond hummed, successfully diverting her attention to him instead.  
“Are you hurt anywhere?”

She shook her head, shyly looking down at her bright-red shoes, blushing.  
Rubbing her eyes, she hesitantly asked, “W-why do you look like him?”

Atsumu glanced up at his twin, before turning back to the child and grinning.  
“ _Sadly_. . . we’re twins! I’m the better one, of course.”  
“Really?”  
“Definitely! Don’t you think so?”

Osamu rolled his eyes, leaning over to Suna.  
“This is slander,” he grumbled, and the brunet gravitated to agreeing, because Suna was absolutely biased.

The girl fervently nodded, and Atsumu patted her head with a smug, satisfied grin tugging his lips.  
“Do you know where your parents are?”

She nodded once more and skidded away, wearing a smile and waving Atsumu goodbye.

Still smirking, he turned to Suna and Osamu.  
“And that’s how you properly interact with tiny humans, you braindead robots.”

“Braindead. . . robots? Implying robots have brains?” Suna raised his eyebrows, watching a matching grin unfold on Osamu’s face, telling of their many tales ganging up on Atsumu.

“Oh come on, not again! You both know what I mean!”  
“We’re apparently braindead robots, so no, we don’t know what ya mean.”

Suna was so completely distracted by the casual, relaxed smile Osamu wore, a complete 180 from before, he didn’t bother listening to Atsumu’s cries anymore.  
Apparently the blond knew what he was doing after all.

“You guys are lagging behind, keep it moving!” Kita called, “There’s a town not far -- ”

The asphalt split in two before Suna’s eyes.

A sudden jolt ripped tore through their bodies, his vision shaking uncontrollably as he lost his footing and fell to the highway, scraping his hands.

He tried to get up, but the intense tremors forced him down, a scream subconsciously leaving his throat, overwhelmed.

Suna felt the Earth bend under him, a chasm having formed and splitting the highway in two, large pieces of asphalt crumbling like gravel, sliding into the pit.  
The base layer the highway was built upon was exposed at the edge of the abyss, broken and split and with large cracks running through.

A screeching, metallic noise made him look over his shoulder, and watched how an unmanned car drove past him a few feet away, dropping into the newly formed abyss -- right where Osamu should be.

There was no sign of his best friend, nor of Atsumu, or Kita, or anyone of his volleyball team.

People yelled in their hurry to flee to the sides of the road, where it was obviously the safest, dodging moving cars and loose debris and falling back down more often than not.

The world stood still when his eyes zoned in on the little girl from before, trembling and alone and too far away for Suna to reach her in time.

Someone else did try, though.

Osamu crawled and scrambled, shredding his skin on the asphalt, tearing out his throat and lungs as he yelled at her, a sound guttural and absolutely terrifying to hear, desperate to get her to move out of the way.

And Suna was a mere bystander.

Osamu got close.

A light-brown minivan slammed into the girl’s frame, subsequently tumbling into the ravine and taking her with it, blood covering its wheels and bumper.

Her red shoes flew through the air, landing perfectly at Osamu’s knees like they were mocking him.

Suna’s mind short-circuited, frozen in an attempt to deal with what he witnessed, trying to find an appropriate reaction.

His fists then hit the ground with a sob, scratching his knuckles and making them bleed, stinging.  
His subdued voice shook with the world around him, as he forced his thighs and legs to move, slowly inching towards Osamu, who stood unmoving, motionlessly staring at the girl’s shoes.

They didn’t deserve this.  
None of them did, and least of all a child.

A motorcycle crashed into the ground behind him, its scourging heat briefly burning onto Suna’s back.  
Through the shaking, he pushed on, a singular thought branded into his mind.

Reach Osamu.

He didn’t think about what to do when he got to him, or about the vehicles heading for him at deadly speeds as the highway curved into itself, into the Earth.

When he managed to miraculously safely reach him, covered in bruises and scratches he didn’t realise he had, Suna latched onto Osamu like a leech, releasing his tears into his neck and holding him.

At his touch, his best friend blinked as if awakening, as if rousing from a deep slumber, and proceeded to fully melt into Suna’s hold as if they were molded to fit.

Salty drops fell onto Suna’s bloodied hands, but he didn’t feel the stinging pain that should accompany the sensation.  
His twitching fingers carded through dyed hair, gripping and releasing, all his demise flowing out of his body with his own tears.

The ground pulsed like Earth’s heartbeat, rumbling, dwindling and calming.

After what felt like hours, slowly, people around them got up, despite the grim atmosphere and piled up traumatic sights.  
Suna’s and Osamu’s broken cries were being echoed all around, as more lives and family members were lost, the people left behind feeling more pain than the two of them ever could.

Osamu tightly clutched the fabric of Suna’s jacket between his fingers, hiding his face into his chest, silently soaking his clothing.

Thoughts and questions finally reappeared in Suna’s mind, gaining awareness of his surroundings again and shakily sighing in relief; the earthquake had died down.  
He felt his own breath warm Osamu’s exposed skin, his nose buried far into his hoodie, inhaling his scent with the intent to calm himself down.

“You’re fine,” Suna whispered into his ear, not wanting to let go of him, not wanting to expose Osamu to the world just yet.  
“We’re fine, ‘Samu. Hey.”

“Are we? _Fuck_ , Rin -- are we, really?”  
The hoarseness in his voice caught Suna off-guard, so much unlike his usual calm smoothness.  
“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Me neither,” the other confessed, “Trust me, I just -- really, really want to close my eyes and forget everything that happened today.”  
With just the two of them, Suna spilled everything he tried to mask.  
“But I also want to get through this utter _bullshit_ that the world is hurdling at us, with you, Atsumu and Kita and Akagi and everyone, and prove to whoever that we can beat this.”

“Why’d you. . . ya could’ve been killed,” Osamu stated, “When you went over to me. . . ya didn’t leave me behind.”

“. . . Would you have wanted me to?”

Osamu swallowed, considering.  
He ended up shaking his head.

“Then stop complaining,” Suna murmured, “Dumbass.”  
“Yer fight or flight instinct sucks.”  
“You of all people have no right to tell me that.”

Helping each other up to their feet, unsteady and uncertain, they searched amongst the heads of hair for a telltale piss-blond, and found Atsumu curled up against the traffic barrier, covering his head.

When his frantic pupils found the approaching two, though, he jumped up -- and nearly fell over -- and staggered over to meet them halfway, falling into a threeway hug that Suna never imagined sharing with him until today.

He couldn’t bring himself to care, however, when moments ago, he thought he’d lost everything.

Even Osamu tightly held on, relishing in his older brother’s presence and visibly daring to relax.

Suna cringed when he found they all reeked of burnt plastic and gasoline, unpleasant to his nose and unnatural, sticking to their clothes and hair.

“The others,” Atsumu started, glossing over what just happened to them, to Suna’s everlasting relief, “They should be on the other side of this. . . abyss.”

 _If they managed to get out of the way in time,_ went unspoken.

The dusty cloud hanging over the ravine had cleared and revealed exactly the damage to the highway caused by the earthquake, but Suna doubted the surrounding towns hadn’t felt the shock of this magnitude.

In fact, they should probably count themselves lucky.

Tokyo City would’ve collapsed right on top of them, even if few skyscrapers were built with anti-earthquake, vibration-damping measures.  
\-- which led Suna to a second revelation; how did the city they were trying to reach look like now?  
This particular earthquake might’ve only hit Tokyo briefly, but who was to say this had been the only one in the entirety of Japan?

“Suna! Miya!”  
Kita’s faraway voice made all three look up, and carefully huddle together at the edge of the ravine.

On the other side, Kita squinted his eyes at them, looking for any injuries, shoulders sagging in relief when he didn’t detect any.

“How’re you all holding up?!” he asked, still yelling to breach the distance.

“Fine! Desperately in need of a therapist, but fine!” Atsumu replied back, “I, ehm -- ”  
He glanced at his younger brother, who gazed into the ravine, peering over the edge with a surprising amount of carelessness.  
“ -- I think ‘Samu’s kinda -- ”  
Atsumu frowned, hesitating, trying to find a fitting description.  
“ -- kinda out of it?!”

Kita fell silent when someone on his side grabbed his attention, and Suna took this as his cue to lead Osamu back to steadier ground.  
The latter let himself be pulled with absolutely no resistance.

“How are your hands?” the brunet asked, forcing himself into Osamu’s space.  
When he received only silence as a response, he gently took the torn, bloodied hands into his own, feeling the other flinch when he brushed past a cut.

He beckoned Atsumu over, almost ripped the bag off his back and took out one of their water bottles.  
With no hesitation, he poured half the contents onto Osamu’s palms, washing blood and gravel out of the wounds, revealing that there weren’t as many cuts as the amount of blood led them to believe.

“The fuck are we gonna do now? How do we get over there?” Atsumu pondered out loud simply to distract himself, apprehensive about the blood on his younger brother, and not daring to bring up what they all witnessed happening to the little girl.  
They’d have to talk about it at some point, but Suna couldn’t say he was very keen on thinking about it right now either.

“We’re going to have to go around,” Suna vaguely gestured, “Aran showed me the map a bit ago and we were approaching a town, so meeting up with the others there shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

Few people already took the lead and backtracked down the highway, to then step over the traffic barrier and walk along the ravine, to find a place they could pass by and continue onward.

“What can we use as bandaging. . .”  
“A shirt? We’re all wearing many layers of’em, so tearing a bit off of one shouldn’t be a problem.”  
“. . . Huh. That’s actually a good idea for once, Atsumu.”  
“I will choose to only view that as a compliment.”

Suna didn’t like how Osamu’s cuts were deep and out in the open, so he was left with no other choice but to unzip his jacket and search for an easily-tearable shirt to rip and create some make-shift bandaging with.

The torn stripes of fabric looked sloppy and uneven, but Suna decided it’d have to do.  
With mild expertise, he wrapped both of Osamu’s pliant hands in the light-blue cloth, desperately trying to ignore the grey orbs focused on him.

Atsumu and Kita had taken to texting each other instead, their phones having survived the earthquake and using the weak signal of a local hotspot.

Suna swallowed.

There were no tears left for him to cry.

He wished, almost _begged_ for them to burn and fall, but he ran dry.

He thought what he felt right this instant was worse than sadness.  
Because Suna didn’t feel anything, his body exhausted of its emotions, passing the phone to Osamu without a word.

In a streak of hopelessness, Suna thought that it’d only been a matter of time since their luck ran out and someone he knew would fall victim to whatever kind of disastrous spiral the Earth has fallen into.

Kita texted them their directions to follow and meet back up in the nearest town, where coach Kurosu had decided they should stay the night and rest.  
It seemed like nobody wanted to think about anything that happened today in general, for that matter.

Atsumu tried to confidently nod at the other two, barely able to simulate he felt fine, and not fooling anyone.

The three stranded students followed the flock of people down the hill, along the newly formed abyss and tried to keep themselves from bursting at the seams.

A small rock somehow got into Suna’s shoe.  
He ignored it.  
Even as he felt it puncture his skin and move around and hurt, he ignored it.  
He didn’t want to stop walking to get it out.

All Suna wanted was to reach that godforsaken town and sleep; to temporarily forget.

**xxx**

The sun cast deep orange hues across the landscape, slowly sinking beneath the small, rural village on the horizon, behind the temple.

The crowd of people they travelled with had significantly shrunk in comparison to when they left the bus behind.

Suna tried not to think about it.

The three of them had met up back with the rest of the team, around half a mile before reaching the village, and like a ceremonial parade, they kept silent.

Utter silence, when they staggered step after step.

No thankful greetings, only half-hearted smiles.

A pair of bloody handprints adorned Aran’s coat.

Suna’s fingertips were a blazing red.  
Every launch of his feet against the ground shot a tearing pain through his muscles, as if walking on miniscule knives, as if his foot could split apart any moment.

The village’s inhabitants were welcoming, offering places in their own houses to the beaten up, exhausted survivors, along with food and drinks.  
Their houses still stood upright, though few showed significant cracks in the walls, and were already hastily cleared and evacuated.

Still, Suna did not feel blessed.  
How could he, when what he witnessed today was real, and branded like a mark into his mind?

He couldn’t help but expect the sky to rain down more ice upon them, and the ground to split and swallow him whole.

Nobody was faring any better than he did.  
Atsumu hadn’t said a single word in about 45 minutes, which had to be a new world record, his teeth clenched and stubbornly biting the exhaustion away, beyond reaching the limits of his stamina.

Riseki hadn’t thrown up again, but looked pale and unwell regardless, while Kita marched on, seemingly unaffected -- he probably hoped nobody would notice, but Suna saw the way he put his weight primarily on his right leg.

Osamu looked like he could fall asleep in a boiling cooking pot and still thank every deity for it.

Suna inwardly cringed at the crackling noise Gin’s back made when Kurosu finally allowed them to take a break from endlessly walking, in front of the first konbini at the mainstreet leading through the village.

“I’ll ask around for a place to stay, and get you all some food and drinks,” Kurosu announced.  
Kosaku moaned, _“Thank god,”_ and almost tripped in his haste to reach a solid wall to rest against.

Wary of his own body, Suna slunk down outside the store to the ground between the weeds, deeply inhaling at the sheer relief it brought his legs and spine, carefully stretching and basking in the evening sun.

He folded his hands and breathed warmth onto his fingers, wanting nothing more than to curl up right where he sat, convinced he could sleep on the ground out in the open without a pillow or blanket.

Suna saw both Miya’s accompanying each other and settling down near a stone wall, peaceful and huddled together, only able to find some comfort in each other.  
It was an odd sight to say the least, and yet, nobody even seemed to notice.

A shadow fell over Suna.  
He didn’t look up to see who it was.  
He didn’t care.

“How’re you feeling?”  
A cold, fresh water bottle softly knocked against his forehead, and Suna managed to reach up and take it, greedily drinking gulps without a break.

“Terrible,” he replied.  
“Reality has finally sunken in, I guess.”

“Good,” Kita murmured, “The faster we accept how the world is changing, the better chance we have to end up safely reaching Tokyo.”

“That’s kind of messed up.”  
“It’s the truth.”  
“Still. . . Hey, keep an eye on ‘Samu just in case. Neither me nor Atsumu trust him to be alone, for now.”

Kita used the wall as leverage to sit down beside him, groaning like he aged fifty years within a few hours -- which, if Suna were honest, he could picture uncannily well.

“What happened on your side?”

The brunet shrugged helplessly, unable to find the right words.  
Their captain patiently waited, drinking from his own bottle in the meantime.

“There was a little girl.”

The glint in Kita’s brown eyes betrayed he anticipated the outcome, and regarded his teammate with a cautious expression.

“She ran into Osamu, started crying, but Atsumu stepped in and somehow saved the day.”

Suna took a deep breath.

“Everything went to shit, and a car, just like that. . . Osamu tried to get to her, move her out of the way, but didn’t make it in time. He saw it all happening up-close and very personal.”

Kita softly nodded to show he’d listened, turning away from Suna to gaze at the Miya’s across.

“I see. His hands?”  
“Got fucked up on the asphalt.”  
“Coach is also buying some ointment and proper bandages right now. It’s unusually thoughtful of you to think about protecting the wounds.”  
“Well, ‘Samu sure wasn’t going to do anything about it in his current state.”  
“What about you?”

Suna grimaced.

“Suna Rintarou, show me your hands.”

Rolling his eyes, the brunet opened up his hands, showing Kita his scratched palms.  
The other sighed and shook his head, as if he’d expected it to be exactly like this.

“Make sure you get some of the ointment as well, then. How’s Atsumu doing? He’s been understandably quiet, but. . .”  
“Probably as fine as he can be. He’s been casting Osamu a lot of glances whenever he thinks nobody’s watching. Might be a fluke.”

“Might be. . .” Kita hummed, void of curiosity, only simple acknowledgement.  
“Riseki isn’t doing well. He might only be a year younger than you guys, but I think he’s taken this a lot worse than most. That one year is crucial.”

Coach Kurosu and Oomi stepped out of the konbini with a jingle, carrying a few bags with pre-packaged sandwiches and granola bars, energy drinks and a few basic medical supplies.

“We found a ryokan to stay the night,” Kurosu monotonically announced with a tired sigh, setting down the bags with a huff.  
“We’ll be continuing our trek to Tokyo tomorrow, so make sure to rest well. If you need any help with the medkits, come to Oomi or Aran.”

Suna absentmindedly nodded.  
He slipped out of his left shoe and shook that persistent stone out, before he went through the pain of standing up again.

His limbs felt heavy, as if weighted down by an extra 20 kilograms.

Aran and Gin took the bags with them, following coach Kurosu as he led them further inside the village.  
Suna couldn’t imagine carrying anything more than his own weight right now, feeling slightly envious of the two.

A few streets down and Kurosu stopped before a cozy-looking, traditional ryokan, checking a hastily written address before nodding.  
Everyone’s eyes had been on him, filled with hope, and simultaneously breathing in relief at his confirmation.

Suna hurried inside after Kita, followed by the twins, uncaring about the colorful sunset behind them or the delicious scents drifting down into the entrance hall from the kitchen.

He completely zoned out staring at a painting of two koi fish, feeling impatient yet patiently waiting.

He barely registered their coach telling them to divide sleeping places themselves, four per room, Suna instantly latching onto Osamu’s side, by default.  
Atsumu clearly didn’t want to be separated from his younger brother either, hovering by his side like a very determined mosquito -- Suna thought it must be a twin-thing, but he can’t be one to talk.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, even if one usually preferred pestering their brother instead of feeling thankful for their presence; they’d been kicked out of their comfortable lives too easily, and they needed time to adjust.

While wearing an exhausted grin, Akagi took one for the team and joined the three second-years to share a room, suppressing a yawn as he led them through the ryokan on Kita’s command, to their assigned room.

Suna could finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean, what do you expect me to say?”  
> Osamu sighed, exasperated, a bit irritated.  
> “. . . I wish I could stop time, right now.”
> 
> “Why? Why not turn back time instead?”  
> “I can’t prevent the entire climate from collapsing, but pausing time would preserve this moment. It can’t get any worse if it can’t continue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> I'm so thankful for everyone's support and love for this fic!  
> The only reason I'm able to update as often as I do, is because of your sweet comments!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter <3

Yet, even the world of dreams did not give Suna an out.

He relived the confusion, the way panic slowly built up and infected his mind, and the moment his morals collapsed when he agreed to not open the bus’s doors for the dying people outside.

Why had he not cared? -- or, _how_ , had he not cared?

The doubting -- where would they be safe, if anywhere at all?

Suna thought he knew himself.  
He’s always been comfortable with his thoughts -- Osamu had thrown him off-balance, and still does, yet he accepted it as part of the process -- but truly doubting himself, was an all-new sensation.

He’d denied the blood and corpses, wished for the hail to be the worst that could happen, only to be proven wrong and watch how the world swallowed them whole; like a once sleeping monster rousing and parting its gaping jaws.

He didn’t want to believe, but just as Kita had said, he had to.  
They all had to, or else their lives could be snuffed out just as easily as it did the small, nameless girl.

His nightmare followed up by showing him memories, memories he shared with none other than Osamu, because Suna should’ve guessed that the culminated fear manifesting as nightmares would show him someone he held so extremely dear.

Sharing their bentos, watching him cook, Osamu’s calming presence and rarely worn smile, dozing off on Suna’s shoulder, basking in the sun --

\-- but his best friend wasn’t there.

In the Miya household, the school’s rooftop, the beach trip they went on with the entire team, his own home, where he lived with his dad -- Suna was alone.  
In every single memory his nightmare had picked out for him, he was all alone, eerie and silent, alarming and unsettling.

Like anyone else on the planet, Suna didn’t want to be alone.  
But it’d never been on the forefront of his thoughts, he never expected to ever be alone, and yet, nothing more scared him than being alone in the world of the present.

_“Rintarou.”_

Suna’s eyes snapped open alarmingly hopeful, surrounded by the purest of darkness, not a ray of moonlight fading inside the room.  
Remembering where he was -- _in a rural village, in a ryokan, in a room he shared with both Miya’s and Akagi_ \-- he laid perfectly still, slowly letting his eyes get used to monotone shade.

His futon felt cramped though, unfamiliar and only faintly smelled like laundry detergent, and more overwhelmingly like how his grandma’s house smelled.  
In any other situation it could be nostalgic, but now it only gave him longing.

Something shifted beside him.

“Rin,” Osamu repeated, a soft whisper.

“. . . ‘Samu, what the fuck. . . what time is it?”  
He slowly rose into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes, squinting in the dark and barely able to recognize Osamu’s form.

The bright light of a phone briefly lit up the room, casting sharp shadows across the tatami and sliding doors to the hallway.

“It’s 2 a.m,” he responded, standing up and looming over Suna.  
“I woke up ‘cause I was hungry, but. . . ya were breathin’ harshly and frownin’, so I nudged ya awake.”

When Osamu mentioned his hunger, Suna’s own stomach churned and uncomfortably twisted, begging to be fed real food instead of konbini packed sandwiches.

He remembered going to sleep immediately after the ryokan’s staff brought them their futons, around 7 p.m., which explained why he hadn’t woken up with the same headache he dealt with before.

Shaking off his blanket, Suna stumbled to his feet and stubbed his toe on the table that was shoved aside to create enough room for four futons, hissing a string of unholy curses under his breath.

He heard Osamu snort softly, and the brunet threw him a glare, which was completely ineffective due to the shroud of night.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Suna grumbled, rubbing his attacked toe against his calve, carefully shambling through the room to the sliding doors, maneuvering past a peacefully snoring Atsumu.  
“It hurts like _hell_.”

He rummaged through their shared bag and snatched his wallet, just in case anything unexpected came up.

“You definitely got a sixth sense for smackin’ yer toe into every piece of furniture ya come across,” his companion concluded.  
“Anyway, apparently due to the constant arrival of survivors, they’re keepin’ the kitchen open to provide meals.”

Suna guessed then they’d been extraordinarily lucky to arrive in the village at the time they did, because even though he would’ve been fine sleeping outside, on second thought, the enveloping warmth and softness of a pillow and blanket was too attractive to give up.

They padded through the ryokan’s left wing hallway, past rooms on either side, only lit up by dim, traditionally designed lanterns with intricate metal framing.

Even if the inn wasn’t built in a conventional way, it would’ve been easy to find the kitchen, as tasty scents drifted stronger the closer they wandered to the lobby again.

The staff had provided them with basic cotton, beige pajamas and slippers, which only now Suna started to really appreciate, despite looking like a cloud with limbs.

He snuck a glance at Osamu, and his exposed neck, tousled grey strands and prominent collarbone; he couldn’t help it.  
The top two buttons of his shirt were open.  
Suna was an opportunist, no matter what situation.

Osamu truly was one of those people who were effortlessly pretty or handsome, not needing to use expensive products to care for their skin or even hair, despite him having dyed it with an initially cheap brand.

“Have you both had a good rest?”  
A middle-aged woman with long, straight hair greeted them when they entered into the cozy lobby, Suna’s eyes immediately moving away to check the koi fish painting he’d seen when they first arrived, somehow reassured to see it was still there.

The lobby was filled with people, including children and a few foreigners, talking in hushed voices or not at all.  
It was cramped, and the air reeked of sweat and dirt and miso soup.

Suna tried to ignore the envious glances cast at them.

“Yes, thank you,” Osamu quickly bowed, stiff and tense.  
“. . . Could we. . . ya see. . .”

“We’d like something to eat.”  
Suna straightened his back, teasingly knocking his elbow against Osamu’s, who huffed in return.  
“You must be very busy, so we won’t be occupying space here for very long --”  
He eyed the few people resting on the couches, battered and bruises, some asleep.  
“ -- but we haven’t had an actual meal in nearly fifteen hours.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, beckoning them to follow her.  
“I apologize for the mess. Besides taking in exhausted survivors, we are also preparing for possible aftershocks of the earthquake.”

Aftershocks, just as deadly as the earthquake itself, but arguably more unpredictable and unstable.  
Suna hadn’t even thought about the possibility, which proved that despite his caution, in the end, he’d still be at the mercy of the world.

Village natives were wandering between the people, trying to help where possible, handing out blankets and bowls with soup and stew.

Somewhere, a child started crying.  
People were muttering in their sleep, curled up in a ball or fetal position, restless.

“You’re paying customers,” the woman stated, “Which means more options in regards to food. If you have any requests, feel free.”  
She paused in front of a metal side door to the right, leading into the kitchen, watching them with a refreshingly sincere, patient gaze.

“Oyakodon and miso soup would be great,” Osamu said, regarding the people near them with a calculated suspicion that Suna has only ever seen in the eyes of their opponents on court.

Carefully contemplating and assessing their more privileged position, his best friend’s true colors shone through his indifferent mask.

Suna has always known Osamu wasn’t dumb despite his laidback attitude -- in fact, he was more observant than Atsumu when it came to practicality.  
However his brother was more tuned in to people’s feelings and emotions, and as Suna has realized many times before, if only the twins worked together, they could become an unrivaled duo both on and off court.

He knew exactly why, then.  
Why Osamu simply requested what everyone around them was getting.

“. . . Me too,” Suna finally agreed.

The young woman looked surprised, as if expecting them to request a dish more indulgent, more deserving of the price they -- _coach Kurosu_ \-- had paid.  
But, she nodded, and disappeared through the door into the kitchen, to prepare their food.

The two squeezed together onto the far end of a lounging couch, settling and giving the lobby a more intense double-take.  
The invisible layer of tension had faded at Osamu’s request, making it a lot easier to breathe and for Suna to look at individual persons without awkwardly averting his gaze every few seconds.

“Oh, there’s Kita,” Osamu pointed out, and Suna followed his stare to the other side of the lobby.  
“. . . Together with Riseki and Kosaku.”

He was right.  
Kosaku especially seemed disoriented, having Kita fuss over him.  
Neither made any effort to stand up and get their attention, though.

Suna felt tired of his team.  
It wasn’t their fault, and it would only be temporary, but he couldn’t bring himself to want their presence near him.  
The homesickness in their eyes, the fear they wore and the grief they carried dragged Suna down, turning into some cocktail concoction of hopelessness.

It was Osamu who grounded him.  
Like an unmoving mountain, providing a beacon.  
Like a palm tree, providing shade.

He was just there, and that was all Suna needed.

“Hey ‘Samu?”  
“Yeah?”  
“How are you doing?”

Suna very much loved catching the other off-guard.  
He knew he succeeded when Osamu replied just a beat or two too late.

“‘s fine,” he answered, “Just peachy. Couldn’t be better.”

Suna gave him the side-eye, unimpressed.

“I mean, what do you expect me to say?”  
Osamu sighed, exasperated, a bit irritated.  
“. . . I wish I could stop time, right now.”

“Why? Why not turn back time instead?”  
“I can’t prevent the entire climate from collapsing, but pausing time would preserve this moment. It can’t get any worse if it can’t continue.”

Noisily humming, Suna briefly pondered over his answer.  
“If it’s like that, it'd be no better than being dead.”  
“Better than freezing to death.”

“Is it?”

Now it was Osamu who turned to him in disbelief.  
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Suna shrugged, “Freezing to death doesn’t rob you of your memories. The good ones, the bad ones. . . You’d die with them. Whereas halting time would take away everything.”

“It’s too early to be havin’ this kind of conversation,” Osamu decided, effectively cutting off the rising somber atmosphere.  
“I came here to eat, not have an existential debate.”

“I’m sorry to say, but you started it.”  
“And now yer starting to sound like Atsumu.”  
“. . . You can’t escape the truth, Miya Osamu.”

The lady that guided them from before approached the two with matching trays of food, each with a steaming bowl of miso soup, a bowl of oyakodon and a cup with green tea, to help them ease back into sleep again.  
They gratefully took the food over from her, thanking her and quickly digging in.

“Thank you for waking me up,” Suna told him in between bites, feeling the heat seep down his throat and trailing through his warm body in its wake.

“What were ya dreamin’ about, anyway?”  
“What do you think?”

Osamu shrugged.  
“I don’t know what goes on half of the time in that mind of yers.”

Brutally honest, just how Suna liked it.  
“It was less of a dream than it was a nightmare.”

His friend caught a trail of soup just in time to prevent it from staining his pajamas, deciding not to probe and keeping quiet instead.  
Like always, Osamu accepted Suna didn’t want to talk about it, knowing he’d continue or bring it up himself again if he did, and didn’t question him any further.

Suna had finished his soup and was half-way down the oyakodon, munching on a piece of chicken, lazily licking his lips.  
It’d gotten rid of his restlessness, lulling him back to dozing off.  
The sensation of a filled stomach did the brunet good.

Osamu sighed, staring down at his empty tray with obvious confliction, to Suna's everlasting amusement.

“There are vending machines over there,” Suna said, grinning when the other perked up like a puppy.  
“I know you’ve been stress-eating the Awadama candy, so I’m sure you’re craving something tasty.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”

Osamu stood up, as Suna tilted his head.  
“Why would I leave?”

The younger twin paused, confused.  
He seemed flabbergasted by Suna’s question.

The latter’s own grin curled downwards into a frown, honing in on Osamu’s face, his expression and darkened eyes.  
“Osamu. . .” he trailed, getting ready to stand up but before he could, the other interrupted him.

“I don’t know,” he answered, brows furrowing.  
"I don’t know. . . why you’d leave.”  
He shook his head slightly.

Suna followed his lead and stood up, inching closer towards his uncertain friend, careless about the people around them.  
He stepped right into his space, watching any signs unfold on Osamu’s faltering expression.

He wondered if it was okay to continue on, and he considered his options.

The last thing Suna wanted was to be pushed away, to be found an unwanted presence, aware of how hypocritical that thought was because that’s exactly how he felt about ninety percent of his volleyball team -- _his friends, his safe circle_ \-- right now.

But if Osamu didn't want him around, he wasn’t sure if he could keep himself away from reaching the breaking point he was slowly but surely edging towards.

“I’m not going to leave,” Suna breathed, somehow easing into a very private moment in the middle of a lobby with fellow traumatized disaster-survivors.  
“I’m never going to leave you.”

Dark grey irises flitted upward to meet his own slanted ones, mirroring doubt and hesitation.

It stung.

Like a vine adorned with thorns constricting Suna's heart, squeezing tightly and puncturing, drawing deadly blood.

“. . . Let’s bring our trays to the kitchen,” Suna suggested in a soft tone, “I got spare change, so we can pick out a few snacks before going back to our room.”

Osamu only nodded, picking up his platter with empty bowls and following Suna through the lobby.  
The staff happily welcomed them, one of them offhandedly commenting about how many adults could learn from them, another claiming they needed extra people just to round up the garbage the survivors they took in were leaving behind.

The vending machine passed by where Kita, Kosaku and Riseki had previously been, but who had long disappeared, presumably going back to sleep.

“I’m going to eat that entire pocky box within the next hour and I will not regret it even one bit,” Suna claimed confidently, subtly trying to lighten up the mood.

It worried him that Osamu hadn’t reassured him that he knew that his best friend wouldn’t leave him alone.  
He felt rejected, even though he hadn’t been.

“. . . I think ya’d be able to eat half, and have me eat the remaining ones.”  
“Is that a challenge?”

“Sure. I’ll be surprised if ya finish it all.”  
A bare minimum passable smile fleetingly ghosted Osamu’s lips.

Suna inserted 200 yen and pressed a button, waiting for the telltale clunk before reaching down and revealing a package with strawberry pocky.  
He handed his wallet to Osamu before tearing open the carton box, rustling the pink-coated sticks and sticking one between his lips.

Suna could almost pretend it was fine, that it was a normal day.  
Even with the broken, exhausted refugees around them, even though the clock neared 3 a.m., even if he didn’t actually remember the ryokan’s name and even with the bloody red bumper of a minivan tainting his memory.

It seemed to him that Osamu felt the same.  
The other was humming to himself, leisurely considering what to get from the vending machine, without a care in the world, as if they were back in Inarizaki High during lunch break.

It was fine to pretend a bit.  
To indulge a bit, to accept his brain was trying to explain what they went through by twisting reality.

As long as he didn’t forget, something Suna was aware of was a real danger to both him and Osamu, and possibly the rest of the team as well.

They could let this fantasy play out for a scene, but absolutely couldn’t soften up and view everything they saw as less than absolutely horrifying.  
Such a thing would provoke recklessness, disillusionment, and might end in death.

“What do I get if I win?” Suna asked.

Osamu finally pressed a button, and revealed he’d bought potato chips, flavored soy sauce and mayo.

“Being correct isn’t good enough for you?” the other retorted, carefully opening the bag and judging the first chip.

“No way.”  
Suna sauntered away from the vending machine, and Osamu easily caught up to him, aiming to leave the lobby and head back to their shared room.  
“You issued a challenge, you provide a prize.”

“There’s not much I can give you. I don’t have anything you want. . . I think.”

If only Osamu knew how much Suna disagreed.  
“. . . You’d be surprised,” the brunet murmured under his breath.

“What? Rin -- ”  
“Nothing, nothing.”

They traded a few pocky sticks for a handful with chips, leaving the cramped lobby behind and breathing in the clean, properly ventilated air, padding back through the hallway with the antique lanterns.

Their exhales created clouds, drifting up and hitting the ceiling before dispersing into nothingness.

. . . Cold?

Trembling, Suna stopped and turned to look behind himself and up to the ceiling, looking around for any signs of ice, hail falling down, to kill them both.

Nothing.  
He didn’t remember the temperature being as cold as it was, but nothing else looked out of the ordinary.

Osamu noticed he’d paused in his tracks, patiently waiting on him, but slowly catching onto the mood shift within Suna.

“I’m going crazy.”  
Suna blinked, chuckling embarrassedly, and shook his head.  
“I thought. . .”

He considered not telling Osamu about his misplaced paranoia.

“You’re waiting for something to happen.”  
Shuffling back to meet Suna, Osamu tilted forward slightly.  
“For the ceiling to collapse, for the floor to break, for the ice to fall.”

It wasn't even a question -- it was a statement.  
It didn’t exactly come as a surprise from Osamu, but it was extremely reassuring to realise nothing between them had changed.

Averting his eyes, Suna nodded, vaguely gesturing in agreement.  
“I can’t help it.”

“Of course you can’t.”

They’d reverted back to talking in soft whispers, aware of the sleeping people separated from them by sliding doors only.

Osamu admitted, “. . . I didn’t wake up ‘cause I was hungry.”

Suna’s lips parted into an ‘o’ of understanding.

His best friend then turned around and carefully slid open the door to their room, disappearing into the dark, and left Suna to gape at nothing.

Despite the cold, warmth flooded his chest.  
He smiled to himself, before following Osamu’s lead and closing the door behind him.

**xxx**

The second time he fell asleep, mercy befell him, and gave Suna a simple but beloved, intact memory of the past.

The last Tanabata he celebrated with both his parents together.  
His grandma had recited the story of _The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl_ , a Chinese folklore tale, as she always did.  
They came together with the entire street to hang their wishes to the large bamboo tree, under the Milky Way and glittering stars.

Suna recalled everything without a hitch, uninterrupted.

He stared up at the midnight sky, with the noises of his chattering parents and neighbors in the background, glowing in dim lantern lights.

Just in time, he caught a shooting star from the corner of his eye, promptly wishing for an endless supply of _chuupet_ \-- jelly fruit sticks.

Then another one fell.  
And another.

Then every single star in the night sky rained down, leaving bright tails behind as they paved through the darkness.

Joy made way for wonder, made way for confusion made way for slowly building panic.

“Mom. . . ?” Suna asked, looking over his shoulder back to the huddle of family and friends in their garden.  
She didn’t hear him.

Then the ground shook, stronger and stronger, till he fell to the street, and tears dripped down his cheeks.  
Until the ground burst open and showed an abyss of darkness, and he screamed.

Losing his footing, he tipped over and fell into the shadows, a call for his mother on his tongue.  
His yell was lost as he drifted down, cold wind cutting his skin, the ravine seemingly neverending.

Further and further, until he heard his voice change into a much lower pitch, saw his legs grow and his hands enlarge, from soft skin into calloused -- from young boy into young adult, the Suna of today.

He woke up for the second time that night, barely able to swallow a call for help with immense self-control.

Noise and sound bled into his ears bit by by bit, as his entire body bumped around in the futon, the floorboards creaking and crunching, dust particles dwindling down from the ceiling.

Oh, he knew exactly what was going on.  
Having just woken up didn’t deter him from instantly assuming the worst, mind on high alert.

He watched Atsumu scramble out of his futon a few feet away, eyes wide and haphazardly reaching for his shoes, still in his pajamas, unaware and uncaring.

Akagi rapidly gathered his bag with valuables, his bottom lip bleeding from biting down too harshly, his expression frozen in permanent discomposure.  
He wore the pajama pants still, only having changed into a few layers of shirts and his coat.

Suna didn’t want to move.  
He _couldn’t_ move, his thighs were locked.

Pulling up his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around himself, turning into a ball.  
His body trembled alongside the tremors of the Earth, as he closed his eyes and tried to tune out every noise and tremor.

Suna wanted to go back to fooling around after volleyball practice, back to laughing at Atsumu’s failed attempts at wooing Sakusa, and back to his only fear of having to eat broccoli for dinner.

He couldn’t do _this_ anymore.

The wooden structure of the ryokan seemed to try its best to withstand the aftershock, bending and giving way in an attempt to prevent the ceiling from collapsing.

A large pair of hands were shoved underneath his armpits and roughly forced him up and out of his safe ball.

Suna almost, _almost_ sank back down to the ground immediately.

“For fuck’s sake, Rin! Get yer shit together and move!”  
Osamu yelled into his ear, shoving him towards the sliding doors, already opened and giving them free passage into the hallway.

Stomping feet and distressed screams sounded in the distance, from the refugees fleeing the ryokan.

In the blink of an eye, he watched Gin sprint past their room, taking Riseki like an owner taking a puppy along by its scruff, their bags messily slung across his shoulder.

Hearing a loud crash, Suna suspected the ceiling had finally given up, somewhere down the hallway or into a next-door room.

Osamu’s words had shook him out of his trance enough to get him to saunter towards the exit, slowly and disoriented.  
Akagi was already outside, loyally waiting for them with beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face, rapidly tapping the floor and glancing around.

“Take Suna and _go!”_

That command, however, made Suna to look back at Osamu and Atsumu, dazed, vaguely wondering why they weren’t following.

He’d been wrong.  
The crash he heard wasn’t from another room.

Before he could react, Osamu threw their shared bag past him into the hallway, picked up by a very conflicted Akagi.

“We can’t just --” the third-year started, “-- we can’t just leave you two here!”

“You can,” Osamu replied, his brows slanted downwards as he pulled at the dark brown, wooden beam.  
“And ya will. I’m getting ‘Tsumu out.”

Horrified, Suna’s heart pounded against his ribcage, and he took one step back into the room -- before Akagi tightly gripped his wrist and pulled him back, now together into the hallway.

The dim lanterns once provided a peaceful atmosphere.  
Now, only a reminder that they were never safe.

“Fine, _fuck_ ,” Akagi spat, as familiar with the Miya twins as anyone in their team, knowing of their unmatched stubbornness.  
To top it off, his self-preservation instinct seemed to be working better than any of the second-years’.

“No, wait!”  
Trying to rip himself out of Akagi’s hold, Suna glared at him in disbelief as he was being taken away, away from Osamu and Atsumu.  
“We need to help them! It’ll be quicker if we both help out!”

Akagi ignored him, tightening his hold on Suna and forcing him through the hallway, following the direction Gin and Riseki had left towards -- back to the lobby.

“Akagi!” he choked, throat closing up and he, in obvious futility, attempted to grip onto any ledge within his vicinity, to stop them both in their tracks.  
Suna may be taller than the libero, but the other held incredible power in his arms and hands.  
“Y-you can’t -- you’re leaving them behind!”

Too fast.  
It all went too fast, as every meter took him further away from Osamu, every second growing more frantic.

“ _Please_ ,” he then begged, “Please let me go back! You can leave, just let me -- ”

“Shut up,” Akagi hissed, gritting his teeth.  
“Shut up, Suna.”

He’d never talked to Suna like that -- or to anyone, to his knowledge.  
Akagi has always been friendly, on and off court, positive-minded and confident.

Through the bashed door to the lobby came smoke.  
For a moment, Akagi hesitated, but steeled his resolve and pushed through the wall of thick, burning smoke.

Suna had no thoughts left.  
The smoke stung his eyes and his tear-ducts opened the floodgates.  
Whether all tears were due to the intense, penetrating pain, he was unsure.

Embers spat up in the distance, sparking onto the very couch he and Osamu had eaten at, and had their heart-to-heart, saw a glimpse of what the calamities of yesterday had done to him.

It caught on fire.

“ _God_ \-- Akagi! Please let me go back!” he tried, one last time.  
Suna couldn’t see a thing, blinded by smoke and tears, covering his mouth by instinct, when he coughed.

Akagi led them in a beeline towards the exit -- _he hoped_ \-- stepping over debris and collapsed blocks of concrete from the ceiling.  
Every surface was tainted grey, and Suna didn’t think that even if he could free himself, he could find the way back.

He hadn’t tried hard enough.  
It was too late.  
He might never see Osamu again, nor Atsumu.

A few hours ago, he promised he wouldn’t leave his best friend behind, and look at him now.

He’s going to regret this for the rest of his life, no matter the outcome.

In a sudden moment of visionary clarity Suna saw they stepped over a buried body, blood staining the wooden beam, a pale, adult hand sticking out from underneath.

He imagined it to be Atsumu.  
Because he hadn’t stayed back to help, and let Akagi pull him away.  
It could become Osamu.

His hand flew to his mouth to refrain himself from throwing up, all his emotions lurching up at once.

If they didn’t find the exit soon, they would both die here regardless -- Suna as a shameless coward, Akagi as a well-meaning friend.

He heard a crackling beneath his feet, and looked down.  
His own blurry vision noticed the koi fish painting he’d become familiar with, smeared and burned at the singes.

Suna tasted only charcoal on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t leave me,” Atsumu whimpered through his teeth, true tears threatening to fall, eyes wide in distress, fearing for his life.  
> “‘Samu -- don’t -- ”
> 
> “I won’t,” Osamu replied, echoing the same conviction Suna reassured him with earlier this night.  
> “Who do ya think I am?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for all the nice comments and kudos, I appreciate them so much!
> 
> I'm actually really, really proud of this chapter -- so I'm extra seriously anticipating your comments and reactions, because I put in an unusual amount of effort into this one.  
> A lot of feeling, too.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Suna waited.

After Akagi had made sure he wouldn’t go on a suicide mission back inside the ryokan, he left him to his devices, very much noticing his broken state.

At some point, Kita had urged him to drink, mentioning the smoke he inhaled.  
The bottle lay untouched next to him, covered in a thin layer of white, as were his shoulders.

A strange coldness had wormed its way into his heart, and it had nothing to do with the falling snow.

Like a lifeless marionette, with its strings cut and left to never move again, he watched the burning building he once considered a safe place.

He could have helped Atsumu.  
He could’ve stayed behind to help, he could’ve stayed with Osamu, he could’ve --

He could have forced Osamu like Akagi had forced him.

Then instead of two perished, there would have only been one.

Only one Miya gone.

That singular sentence repeated on loop in his mind.

He could have saved the Miya he loved, the one he treasured most, the one he couldn’t do without.

Only one.  
_Only one._

Slumping forward, salty drops fell onto the blisters on his hands.

It burned, and Suna wanted it to.  
He wanted to burn away the instant regret he felt at thinking those thoughts.

Did he change this much within the span of a few days?  
Did he change into a far worse version of himself this quickly?

He’s never been a fan of Atsumu, but he wouldn’t _ever_ \--  
Not just for Osamu’s sake --  
He wouldn’t --

. . . Right?

Resolutely, he scrambled to his feet, gritting his teeth when his ankles protested.  
Akagi, alarmed once more, nudged Aran at Suna’s movements.

“I can’t just sit by,” the brunet hissed to himself, torn by the duality raging inside his brain.  
His rational side argued he shouldn’t put himself needlessly in danger, yet he feared that he could help the Miya’s, if he went back inside --

He stared at the burning ryokan, the flames licking at the snow like hell’s fire, aiming to destroy and take down with it as much as it could.

Somewhere inside was Osamu, possibly already burnt, possibly already _dead_.

Inky black like charcoal, skin melted and dried, bones charred and broken.

Would his body still be recognisable?

“Suna,” Aran’s calm, collected voice called out to him, a large hand lightly landing on his shoulder.  
“They may still make it out alive. You can’t give up on them just yet.”

Toxic anger surged at those words -- Suna couldn’t believe how calm Aran sounded.  
Something about his composure pissed him off, frustrated him, not believing it to be a realistic response in these circumstances.

Aran should know the Miya’s better than anyone, was their childhood friend, and he talked like there was nothing worrisome about the twins being stuck inside a burning, deteriorating building.

He slapped his hand away, flinching away from the third-year like an animal in peril.

“You don’t care?” Suna asked, a sharp coldness lacing his tone, “You don’t care they’re going to die? They might as well already be engulfed in flames, screaming, and we’re all safely out here, outside, no flames -- ”

“Calm down,” Aran hummed, still fine, still not caring enough to Suna.  
“You’re panicking, which is very understandable. However -- ”

Suna wildly shook his head, throwing his hands in the air and walking away from him.  
“You don’t get it. I _don’t_ need you to be understanding right now. Every single one of you is standing around like you’ve already accepted they’re both _fucked!”_

He circled around, ignoring the flash of hurt reflected in Aran’s expression, even feeling a twinge of arrogant pride, who backed down, radiating -- disappointment?

Like the rebellious teenager with severe anger issues he never grew up to be, Suna rammed his foot into a lamp post, a metal clang responding.  
He’d felt fatigued and exhausted only minutes ago, but at this moment, he felt like he could flatten the world into a pancake and still feel unsatisfied.

Restlessness -- he wasn’t used to feeling as such.  
If anything, he should be listening to logical rationality, and simply calm down and wait like everyone else.  
But that was Suna from before the hail.

The Suna of today had reason to fear he would never see Osamu again.

Leaning forward against the street light, he bit back a sob.  
He never knew a person could feel this many emotions at once, crashing against him like waves.  
The guilt, the regret, the words he had yet to tell Osamu, the loneliness, the absolute self-loathing.

He’d seen enough dramatic movies when sleeping over at the Miya household, but every heartbroken character had seemed more like a karikature to him.

Not so much anymore.

“Suna, you fuckin’ piece of shit!”  
With the nose of his shoe, Gin kicked in his shin from behind, roughly grabbing his shoulders and turning him around.  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Ya can be angry all ya want, but don’t involve Aran in your temper tantrums!”

The snow.  
It could flutter down for eternity, and Suna wouldn’t care.  
It could pile up and bury him, it didn’t matter.

The brunet eyed his fellow second-year, shrugging.  
“. . . I don’t know what you mean.”

The wing spiker pushed him back against the street light, somehow managing to cage him in against the thin, vertical surface.  
The metal felt colder than the snow against his skin; a sensation-numbing, piercing pain.

Gin’s expression contorted into fury, eyebrows low and sharp and glaring at Suna as if he drowned a litter of puppies right in front of him, or anything worse.

“Like hell you don’t! We’re all prayin’ on our knees the Miya’s get out alive, don’t ya get it?!”  
Possibly angered even further by Suna’s impassive stare, he looked away, most likely resisting the temptation to engage in a fist fight.  
“We’re all tryin’ to make the best of it!”

Suna clicked his tongue, happily taking this confrontation as a means to distract himself.  
“I’m sure _you_ are, but I, for one, don’t want to make the goddamn best of it. I don’t see any reason why I should.”

“Hey!” Kita’s authoritative call echoed across, having noticed the two.  
“We don’t need any in-fighting right now!”

“Shut up!”  
Both yelled at the same time, and Kita rose his eyebrows in surprise, before lowering back into a squint.  
He stalked over to the two, almost sliding across the snow.

Gin backed off, stepping back out of Suna’s space and redirecting his glare to the snowy ground instead.

Suna sheepishly leaned down and rubbed the painful spot on the back of his leg, remaining pissed off and ready to retort at the slightest provocation.

He had a track record of pacifying the Miya’s -- Osamu especially, unsurprisingly -- before Kita could notice what they were up to or before they could actually cause a ruckus.

He only ever faced their captain’s wrath as a bystander, but Suna supposed that there was a first time for everything, and if today was going to be the big day, he welcomed it.

Anything to not think about Osamu, of whom there was still no sight.

Kita loomed with his arms crossed, eyes flitting back and forth between them.

“Gin. . .” he started, sighing softly.  
“I don’t think Suna knows yet. Which you could’ve expected, given Osamu is involved.”

It would’ve been a funny jab at Suna’s careless attitude towards hiding his crush from anyone except said crush himself, if only Osamu wasn’t possibly dead.

“What do I not know this time?”  
Mimicking Kita, he crossed his arms, staring back.  
“. . . What is it?”

“Take a look around,” Kita mumbled, swallowing, “And tell me who else is missing besides the Miya twins.”

Suna didn’t move.  
“. . . No,” he trembled in a small voice, exposing his vulnerability to the world.  
“. . . I don’t want to.”

Gin seemed absolutely fed up with Suna’s whirlwind of emotions, and opened his mouth before Kita could halt him.

“According to coach Oomi, he got trapped inside his room and willingly stayed behind as to not kill them both,” Gin announced, lacking empathy and only cruelly stating reality, the reality Suna didn’t want to be part of.

“Coach Kurosu is dead.”

**xxx**

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot, ya know that?”

Osamu exhaled, flexing his arms as he put his full weight into lifting the splintered wooden beam, sharp chips like miniscule needles stabbing his hands.  
“If I’m going to die ‘cause of your stupid ass, I’ll tell Sakusa all yer embarrassing childhood secrets.”

Atsumu huffed a strained chuckle, clenching his fists and pressing a row of crescents, pain shooting through his buried legs.  
He suppressed a gasp when Osamu removed a heavier piece of concrete debris off of him.

The elder twin was laid on his back, propped up on his elbows and with his entire lower half gone underneath the crashed ceiling, dislocated and completely locked in place.  
He’d struggled at first, but every muscle twitch pinched and pulled his skin.

“Well, everything was shakin’, I couldn’t tell the fucking ceiling collapsed!”

Osamu grumbled a few noncommitted hums, wishing he could earnestly blame Atsumu for being a dumbass -- but he couldn’t, and at this point, his entire mind was focused on getting them both out of the ryokan, which he also suspected was burning down.

Wisps of smoke trailed through the hallway and up the creaks of the floorboards, urging them to beware of the ticking clock.

Osamu heaved another larger piece of concrete and toppled it over away from Atsumu, choking on a flash of pain as he felt his own scabbed wounds pull apart and bleed once more.  
He’d apologize to Suna later, for wasting his careful bandaging work.

Catching his breath, hunched over and sweating waterfalls, Osamu drowned in futility.  
He gazed down on his brother, whose lips were burst and bloody, inhaling and exhaling heavily, glaring daggers at the heap on top of him.

The younger glanced over his shoulder at their escape, into the hallway.

The older saw.

“Don’t leave me,” Atsumu whimpered through his teeth, true tears threatening to fall, eyes wide in distress, fearing for his life.  
“‘Samu -- don’t -- ”

“I won’t,” Osamu replied, echoing the same conviction Suna reassured him with earlier this night.  
“Who do ya think I am?”

The blond had the nerve to crack a smile, his entire body trembling.  
“My stupid twin brother, that’s who.”

Osamu vaguely gestured.  
“I’m not strong enough to lift that wooden beam, ‘Tsumu.”

“. . . Yeah. I figured.”  
“Don’t sass me, or else I really will leave.”  
“Too late, I know ya won’t.”

Urgent footsteps once in the distance were now heading closer and closer, running and thumping through the ryokan’s hallway, making Osamu jump up in caution.

Did someone get lost?  
Or perhaps someone ran back inside to find a person they lost in the chaos?

The steps halted, and a tall shadow cast through the growing smoke in the doorway.

“Oh, there you both are.”  
Aran’s expression momentarily showed relief, before striding over and assessing the situation with unmatched efficiency.  
“ _Assholes_. Osamu, on three.”

He reached for one end of the wooden beam, waiting for the grey-haired twin to catch up and follow his lead.

“Aran!” Atsumu cried, daring to look hopeful.  
“I knew ya would come for us!”

Osamu scrambled over, nearly tripping over a stray brick while wiping his hands at his once clean and white pajama top, now grey and red.  
He felt like weeping in relief, but instead settled for a soft grunt tiptoeing on the edge, barely holding himself together.

He’d given up.  
He’d accepted it all rather easily, that he would die here with his only family left in this hellhole of a world, his mind occupied by memories of their family, Inarizaki High and Suna.

Suna.  
The horrified look of realisation he’d worn before Akagi hauled him away was branded onto Osamu like a burn mark.  
He saw him think in that moment, when it dawned on him what was going on, that Atsumu was trapped and Osamu wasn’t going to leave him behind.

A million words he wanted to say had swirled through his head in that moment, but in the end, he couldn’t settle for anything.  
He’d still hoped he would be able to free Atsumu, and saying goodbye, or thanking his best friend, for everything -- he couldn’t handle the finality attached to it, and had chickened out at the last second.

“Do you think,” Aran asked, “you’re able to walk?”

Atsumu sourly looked away, replacing fear with raw hatred for the situation he’d found himself in.  
“. . . I think it’s broken. One of’em.”

Aran glanced at Osamu and the latter nodded, hands tightly gripping the wooden beam and ready to lift.  
If Atsumu’s leg really was broken, it’d pose a variety of difficulties on their trek to Tokyo, but only if they got him out of here alive in the first place.

“Let’s pray it’s not both your legs done for, then.”  
Aran counted down, and with renewed hope and simple determination, Osamu joined him in lifting up the heavy wooden beam, its weight now split and divided.

“To the left!” Aran called, and they hoisted the beam in the direction of the very table that assaulted Suna’s toe, dumping it on top and breaking it in two.

Osamu couldn’t help but think that served it right.

Atsumu happily sighed, able to move one of his legs underneath the crumbled debris and dust, gradually slowing down his breathing to a more controlled pace.

“Fuck,” he huffed, relief dripping from his tone of voice.  
“Fuck, _shit_ , my right leg is definitely a goner -- C’mon, help me up.”

The blond reached towards the two with grabby hands, expectant.  
Aran pulled him out from underneath the rubble, wincing at the sight of Atsumu’s very dislocated leg, an angle so wrong it made him visibly cringe.  
From ankle to knee, his legs were covered with purple and red bruises, scratches with beads of blood smeared across his skin.

Embers swirled through the smoke as Aran and Osamu slung either of Atsumu’s arms around their shoulders, holding him up and dragging him with them, hastily leaving the room as the ryokan collapsed all around them.

Their heads felt light, violently coughing as Aran led the way -- the lobby should be engulfed in flames, closing off their initial escape route.

“How’d you find us?” Osamu asked, covering his mouth with his free hand, squinting through the smoke.  
“. . . and why?”

“Why?” Aran repeated, sounding vaguely offended.  
“I’ve known you both since childhood. And even if I hadn’t, Suna’s losing it, so I didn’t have a choice.”

They fell silent, listening to the crackling blaze around them, and only then Osamu noticed the aftershock had died down -- the world stood still once more.

The wall of smoke thinned.  
Light filtered through, cast upon the ashy floorboards, and they stumbled outside into the alleyway behind the ryokan.

Osamu’s knees gave up on him and he collapsed into the cold snow, coughing and wheezing, fingers trying to hold onto the melting white on the ground.  
Tears rolled down his stained cheeks, somewhat clearing up his sight.

On the snow below, he saw splatters of dark grey and drops of red.  
He quickly wiped his mouth, before attempting to swallow dryness, slowly rising to his feet using the stone wall.

Aran managed to haul Atsumu, who limped alongside him as best he could, out of the alleyway and towards the main street, where supposedly everyone else who managed to escape was dealing with the aftermaths of yet another calamity.

Snow stuck to his hands melted, leaving clean patches among the greyness.

Osamu hadn’t been able to think about the little girl for a few hours, from when he woke up and ate with Suna, to stumbling out of the burning ryokan, battered and bruised -- she had left his mind alone.

Using the wall and Aran’s footprints as guidance, he sauntered out of the alleyway, just in time to see the entire ryokan collapse in a rise of flames, its scourging heat melting the snow surrounding it.

He was alive.  
Both he and his brother were.  
Not completely intact, but it was enough.

The pain from the reopened cuts on his hands were dulled down due to the snow, he didn’t feel anything, which he was completely fine with.

Blinking into the purity of the whiteness all around him, Osamu stepped out into the main street.

He saw the same sight as after the first earthquake, as in the lobby, as yesterday.

The survivors huddled together, weeping and mourning, once more suffering, having lost loved ones to the fire, or to the collapsed buildings.

Only now it dawned on him to what degree he and Atsumu had barely escaped the grasps of death, with so little room left.  
Without Aran, they would’ve been buried underneath the rubble, and burn along as if they too were a mere piece of wood.

With immense relief, he noticed Akagi, who concerned himself with poor Riseki, who was cowering and covering his ears, unable to talk properly.

Sweeping across the small crowd, it looked like most of his team, his friends, made it out alive with a few scratches and bruises here and there.

Suna was safe somewhere among these people.

He only hadn’t spotted him yet.

With growing unease, he hurried through the people, limping and frantic, not noticing the few worried glances cast towards him.  
Osamu was too preoccupied with identifying every brunet around him, looking for a pair of sly, slanted grayish-yellow eyes.

He saw him, then.  
Slightly turned away, frozen like a statue, standing together with Ginjima and Kita, the latter saying something out loud to them.

Suna’s eyes finally shifted and connected with his own.  
Mouth parting, eyes widening, he momentarily took in Osamu’s appearance, as if trying to discern if he were an illusion or not.

Osamu couldn’t move anymore.

Suna shoved Kita aside, who stumbled but regained his footing, at first confused but then, he noticed too.

The brunet cried out something as his figure scrambled to run, the younger twin couldn’t hear.

Osamu wished to have Suna hold him.  
‘Best friends’ label be damned, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

He was tired, at the verge of breaking down, but his last shred of dignity wanted it to be in Suna’s warmth, and not out in the open for everyone to see.

All at once, he fell right into open arms.  
Suna immediately sank down to the ground and took Osamu with him, grasping and trying to cradle his entire body to himself.

Gentle fingers trembled against Osamu’s face, trying to wipe the flakes of ash off of him.  
Suna purposefully adjusted for him to rest on his shoulder, face tucked underneath his chin, feeling his steady breaths.

Nobody dared interrupt them.  
Not a soul went near the two, no matter how much Kita or Akagi or Gin wanted to see and touch, to reaffirm for themselves that both Miya’s were truly here with them.

Blood dripping from their hands stained the snow like an empty canvas, painting it a deep red.

“Stupid Miya, you’re bad for my heart,” Suna whispered against his jaw, his tears colliding and splattering onto Osamu’s cheek and neck.  
“ _Fuck_ , Osamu, if you died in there -- I would’ve died with you.”

This made Osamu open his eyes, with considerable difficulty.

Suna only pressed their foreheads together in silence, choosing to let his comment simmer for a bit.

Osamu soon coughed, dry and ticklish in his throat, trying to suppress the taste of blood and charcoal.

The brunet looked up and around, his eyes finding Kita and wordlessly pleading, one pale hand stretching out.  
A water bottle was placed in his hand, the cap already loose and easy to take off.

With unsteady movements, Suna held it to Osamu’s lips, carefully tipping to slowly have him drink at his own pace.  
The cool relief soothed the younger twin’s throat, washing away particles of dust and ash, and calming down his body.

“I don’t know if I would’ve made it to Tokyo without you.”

Osamu hummed in reply, his thoughts and mind a haze, yet clearly able to see the sorrowful expression Suna wore, sharp edges softened and eyes watery.

“. . . You would have,” he protested, “Rin, ya would have. It’s not like you to be weighted down by someone else.”

“Someone else’s _death_ , _your_ death --” Suna breathed to his temple.  
“ -- Ten minutes I managed to wait, before me and Gin got into a brawl. . .”

Osamu roughly chuckled, “You, versus Gin? . . . I don’t think ya would’ve won that one.”

“O ye of little faith,” Suna murmured, the corners of his lips turning up despite the remnants of tears adorning his cheeks.  
“I was ready to fuck him up.”

Happiness is a fickle concept, Suna discovered.  
How easily the tables could turn, from joy into dread and vice versa, was something he experienced today, and would most likely make a reappearance in the future.

He felt happy just by having Osamu living and breathing in his arms, bloodied and covered in ashes, borderline unconscious.

That was the Suna of today.

With the help of Gin, they carried Osamu over to where the others were gathered, near the konbini that surprisingly withstood the aftershock quite well.

To the cloudy, obsidian sky above, he promised to never leave Osamu’s side again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you really not get it?” Suna sighed.  
> He was getting a bit tired of pretending he only cared for Osamu as a best friend.  
> “Or are you just playing dumb?”
> 
> “. . . I do get it,” the other muttered, finally glancing away, to his own bandaged hands now hidden by the sleeves of his coat.  
> “. . . But if ya were lookin’ for the twin to assume things without confirmation, you got yer hands on the wrong one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this new update!

“Hold still, damnit -- ”

Atsumu brows scrunched up his face, flinching at every touch to his broken leg.  
Various spots between his ankle and knee were swollen, red and purple, throbbing painfully.

“Not too tight,” Kita muttered, peering over Aran’s shoulder, seemingly a bit anxious.  
“Or else the blood flow will cut off.”

Osamu’s hand was being squashed to bits by his older brother, who agreed to be moral support and now very much regretted that decision.

Aran tied the last knot, and looked his work over once, satisfied.

Atsumu’s right leg was neatly splinted, properly aligning his bones and muscles and preventing any formed fractures from developing further.  
A medical shop a few streets along had handed them a pair of crutches -- free-of-charge, because even the money-grubbers realised profits itself became a useless concept when the world devolves into a survival game.

The konbini and other supermarkets made fair packages and handed them out to the survivors, containing food, water and few medical supplies, and various clothing shops handed out warm coats and jackets for free.

It’d seemed like most people native to the village planned on moving onwards to Tokyo as well, though Suna definitely witnessed a few fights out in the open between family members.

Dividing arguments, final goodbyes.

It was dawn, the morning following the aftershock.  
Everyone had gotten in at least a few hours of sleep, though not without struggles.  
Nightmares and paranoia plagued them, haunting them well into the deepest states of rest.

Suna spent a multiple hours watching over Osamu, who, though alive, had incurred various burns and minor injuries, and had slept the most out of all of them.

Arguably, Atsumu and Riseki suffered most.

Suna himself hadn’t talked to anyone.  
Not to Gin or Akagi, Kita or Aran -- at first, he’d felt ashamed of himself, for how he acted, and what he made Aran do -- even though it ended up saving the lives of both Miya’s.

He felt embarrassed, very much so.  
It hadn’t been like him to act such a way at all.

He would apologize.  
He would, but now was not the time.

Suna observed the group, wary.

Not a word regarding coach Kurosu was uttered, and the twins didn’t even know yet, though might already suspect something was up due to his obvious absence.

Kurosu had been their guide, but emotionally, he’d been more than just a coach.  
A secondary parent, a substitute guardian, someone who they could trust and depend, and who directed them through chaos -- on and off court.

The dynamics were changing, ever so slightly.

Coach Oomi. . . well, the brunet didn’t put much trust in him, if he were honest.  
The man had very quickly shown everyone he didn’t take any initiatives, which prompted Suna to regard him with distant apathy.

Oomi may be the only other adult left, but he had more or less folded into himself, steering away from the group and only joining them when asked by one of the third-years.

It was Kita who bargained for the food packages, who stood in line for two hours to claim medical supplies to properly take care of Atsumu’s broken leg, and who kept his chin up and sight set on Tokyo.

Speak of the devil --

“Atsumu, Osamu,” Kita started, his grim and somber tone of voice giving away the topic he would address to Suna.  
“You may have noticed. . . coach Kurosu isn’t with us.”

“He’s. . . dead, right?” Osamu questioned.  
“I kind of. . . guessed. . . But, do ya know how it happened?”

Kita sighed, disgruntled, pointedly glancing at Oomi with a sort of accusatory look, who’d settled on a couch away from them, staring ahead with an empty glaze in his eyes.  
His expression lacked respect, which Suna didn’t think he would ever detect on Kita, of all people.

“We asked, since Oomi shared a room with him, but. . . From what we gathered, coach Kurosu’s body worked against him. Ceiling collapsed, separating the two and only giving Oomi an out, while Kurosu was trapped.”

“Oomi said he told him to leave him behind and, you know, save himself,” Akagi added, glancing at the man from afar, uncomfortable.

“. . . What the hell are we going to do now, then?” Atsumu asked.  
“Coach knew what to do. . .”

“We continue to follow the original plan,” Kita replied, straightening his back as he now talked directly to all of them.  
“I think we should continue onwards to Tokyo in an hour or so. It’s been snowing almost non-stop since yesterday, and it’s gotten a lot colder too.”

“So much for global warming,” Ren grunted.  
“We need to take extra care regarding hypothermia.”

“Exactly. We won’t take any unnecessary risks and simply follow the highway straight to Tokyo, only taking a detour if it’s impossible to continue.”

Gin asked, “What about Atsumu?”

“We’ll have to walk a few beats slower than usual, and just keep a close eye on him,” their captain replied, brows furrowed in thought.  
“However. . . Aran, Ren, could you two look around for any types of sleds? Advanced or not, we need to anticipate Atsumu being unable to continue onwards at some point. If you can get your hands on more than one, we could tie our luggage and bags to it as well.”

Osamu decided to leave his irritated brother, who was ready to protest about his abilities to walk, to the third-years, joining Suna on the cold tiles of the konbini floor, not shying away from touching elbows and knees.

“Hey,” Suna greeted.

Osamu pulled his knees up close to his chest, slightly leaning against his friend.  
He was wearing a fluffy coat handed to him by a fashion store, which reached past his waist.

“Hi.”

As something the two were notoriously infamous for within the Inarizaki High volleyball team, neither felt like making small-talk, and so they opted to relish in a comfortable silence, listening to the soft thrumming of the freezers, the whispers of their friends between the empty aisles.

Suna had come prepared, however, and after a few minutes of rest, he reached for the medkit at his side.  
His own hands were already bandaged up, courtesy of Aran.

He clicked open the case and took the bandage roll, showing it to Osamu with his eyebrows expectantly raised.  
The other sighed as if tormented by the mere sight of Suna worrying for him.

But, Osamu obediently offered his hands, silently watching as a layer of soft bandaging covered his hardening blisters, his scabs and cuts.

Despite Suna’s best efforts to focus, he couldn’t help but feel his insistent gaze on him, studying him, drifting to various points on his face.  
It tingled, without ever touching him, wherever his best friend looked.

“Stop watching me like that,” Suna murmured, carefully tightening the knot and motioning for Osamu’s remaining hand.  
“. . . If you need to say something, say it.”

He was met with silence, again.  
A minute or two must’ve passed before Osamu finally spoke up.

“Aran mentioned you were losin’ it. Ya antagonized Gin. . . ‘s not like you.”

Suna paused, his hand with the bandage roll hovering.  
He wanted to reply, but something got caught in his throat.

Of course he had to bring it up, naive and blunt and honest and none-the-wiser Osamu --

“Thanks for that grand observation, Mr. Obvious,” he managed, raspy and not at all sarcastic like he’d intended.  
He cleared his throat, but it didn’t get rid of the lump.

Suna tied the final knot, and closed the medkit.

Osamu’s eyes were unabashedly boring into his skull, seeking an answer.

“Do you really not get it?” Suna sighed.  
He was getting a bit tired of pretending he only cared for Osamu as a best friend.  
“Or are you just playing dumb?”

“. . . I do get it,” the other muttered, finally glancing away, to his own bandaged hands now hidden by the sleeves of his coat.  
“. . . But if ya were lookin’ for the twin to assume things without confirmation, you got yer hands on the wrong one.”

A breathy chuckle escaped Suna, rolling his eyes and softly shaking his head.

“Ya did it for me, didn’t you?” Osamu questioned.

“I almost sent Aran to his death.”  
“He chose to go back inside himself.”  
“If I hadn’t gotten pissed at him, he wouldn’t have risked his life -- ”  
“ -- and me and ‘Tsumu would’ve died.”

Suna swallowed, opening his mouth but came up dry without an answer.

A hesitant, warm hand slid across his knee, and perfectly fit within the grasp of his own.  
Their unbandaged fingertips touched, pulsating heat and life.

Suna’s poor heart skipped a beat or two, an anxious whirlwind clouding his lungs.  
His own cowardice had never gotten him this far, and if Osamu offered him a chance, well --

Suna intertwined their fingers, tightening his grip without hurting either of them, aware of their injuries.

He felt Osamu’s palm tremble against his own, giving away the other was as nervous if not more so than Suna.

“Hey,” the younger twin murmured.  
“. . . Hi,” Suna whispered back.

Neither felt like explaining the newfound connection between them.

**xxx**

The landscape had become unrecognizable overnight.

A thick layer of snow covered every single surface, every green leaf and blade of grass, rivers frozen over.

Suna absolutely loathed the cold.  
His skin did not handle it as well as the average person could, sensitive and easily irritated.

Their warm winter coats certainly helped and fulfilled their duty of protecting against the snow, but most of his face remained exposed and caught gracious amounts of snowflakes.

At least, he supposed, there was little to no wind, saving them from even harsher circumstances and allowing for a higher probability of them reaching Tokyo as humans, and not ice cubes.

They left the village behind at dawn, moved back onto the highway and pushed forward, a vague promise of safety and rescue ahead in Tokyo.

Osamu’s labored, heavy breathing alarmed Suna, especially when he noticed his friend lagged behind.  
The first was currently pulling along one of the sleds, tied to a rope around his waist, carrying half of their bags -- Ren pulled the other half, while Akagi and Aran shared the one with a resting Atsumu, who begrudgingly recognized his limits.

Suna slowed down, tugging the other's arm to get his attention.

Red-faced and visibly struggling, Osamu glanced up at him, silently untying the rope at Suna’s insistent gaze.  
The added weight certainly wasn’t comfortable, but he’d rather burden himself with this than watching Osamu’s strength deteriorating.

“. . . Thanks,” the younger twin muttered, leaning backwards and bending his back to relief his muscles, rolling his shoulders.

“Don’t mention it,” Suna replied.

These were the only exchanges throughout the entire team spoken, hardened by the events of the past few days and determined to live.

It’d become unified knowledge there was nothing left to say.  
They followed Kita and Aran’s lead, their end goal was Tokyo, and the only way to go was forward.

The brunet took a few bigger steps to catch up to the rest, followed by Osamu who simply joined him at his side, keeping his eye on Kita’s leading back.

Their gloved hands soon wandered, until they found each other and held on, providing a comforting presence to either, grounding them through their somber outlooks.

Osamu’s hand, even through the warmth-retaining gloves, blazed warmer than the hottest cup of chocolate Suna could wish for.  
Maybe it was because of the mutual trust and knowing that neither would let go, but it might just be because it was _Osamu’s_ hand he was holding.

It only took a series of world-wide disasters, but here they were, walking together like lovers on a spring day surrounded by cherry blossoms and cicadas, only everywhere they looked it was cold and white and they wouldn’t ever see their parents again.

Very uplifting.

Suna could deal with it as long as he had Osamu.

He wasn’t afraid to accept the younger Miya as his lifeline.  
As unhealthy as it would’ve been in any other circumstances, Suna knew himself, and so he knew that very little things would truly matter if Osamu wasn’t alive and happy and safely at his side.

Hours passed, hours that Suna tuned out in favor of pressing forward and retaining energy.

Occasionally, they saw other groups of people in the distance.

There was no clear telling of what time of day it was, as grey clouds hid the sun from their eyes, and only threatened for more snow to fall.

To both Suna and Osamu’s surprise, Riseki broke away from Kita’s side and slowed down to join them, hands stuffed inside his coat’s pocket and sporting snowy eyebrows.

The first-year caged Osamu between them.  
He cast a glance behind himself, at Oomi, who formed the tail of the group by his lonesome.

He didn’t bat an eye at their joined hands -- perhaps he didn’t notice, didn’t care.

“Is it okay?” Riseki hesitantly asked, “. . . If I join you both? It’s. . . I can leave again.”

“No, of course ya can stay.”  
Osamu shot him a brief, vaguely worried glance, thoroughly analyzing Riseki’s complexion for any traces of the fever he previously dealt with.  
When he didn’t find anything worth fussing about, he relaxed his grip on Suna’s hand a bit, and continued trudging on.

“Thank you. . .” the younger trailed.  
“. . . It’s just that ya two carry this more. . . forward atmosphere? If that makes sense.”

Riseki frowned, pursing his lips together, frustrated with himself.  
“. .. It’s like ya have accepted what’s happening for what it is, while most everyone else are like. . . stuck, in the denial phase. Tryin’ to wrap their heads around it, still. Kind of trapped.”

Osamu hummed, uncertain as to whether it was in agreement or not.  
“. . . Can’t speak for Sunarin, but I think it’s easier for me cause despite his reckless dumbass-ery, ‘Tsumu is still my brother and. . . closest family.”

“I get that,” Riseki nodded, “I’m mostly thankful I’m not in this situation by myself, y’know? I’m glad I’m with you guys.”

“For me. . . After almost losing ‘Samu,” Suna hesitantly joined, looking up at a mountain ridge to the side, serrated and sharp and definitely caused by the earthquake.  
“. . . It shook me awake, I guess. For the sake of being on guard and more alert. . . hopefully to prevent anything like that from happening again.”

Osamu lightly squeezed his hand.

They walked up closer to Atsumu on his sled, who’d become bored of pouting and instead sticking out his tongue every now and then to catch the falling snowflakes.  
His crutches were on his lap, while his working leg paved a path through the snow as it trailed alongside the sled.

He perked up once he saw the three approaching, eager for any distraction.

“‘Samu!” the blond immediately cried, pulling up his lip.  
“I won’t be able to play volleyball like. . . this!”

“ _That’s_ what yer worried about?”  
Osamu blinked in disbelief.  
“Fer fuck’s sake, we’re two steps away from bein’ cryogenically frozen!”

“Did the cold upgrade yer tiny mouse brain or somethin’? Using expensive words like that! What’s that even mean?!”

“Yer just a goddamn idiot. This is why ya almost failed the entrance exam. Not that test results matter anymore.”

“No need to bring yer pessimistic garbage to me, shoo!”  
Atsumu huffed and gestured with both hands for them to leave him alone again --  
“Don’t actually go. It’s kinda borin’ here.”

“Excuse you, you’re living the royal high life right now,” Suna mocked-chastised, “Us common folk have to walk miles, your Highness.”

“Yeah, ya don’t get to complain about being bored, sittin’ perched up on that sled.”  
Osamu sagely nodded along.  
An upward twitch to the corners of his lips betrayed his mood.

Atsumu flopped on his back, limp and glaring at the three through his eyelashes, though pointedly avoiding direct eye contact with Riseki.  
“Ya only needed to ask. I’ll gladly break one of yer legs for ya,” he sourly grumbled.

Osamu suppressed a laugh as best he could, harshly kicking the sled, but ultimately grinned, his eyes shifting over to Suna as he bit his lip.  
The brunet sighed at the familiar, bubbly giddiness welling up his chest, inwardly cursing but outwardly matching his best friend’s toothy, amused smile.

Riseki managed the softest of smiles, most likely unconsciously, looking away from the second-years, clearly having listened to the twins’ banter.

The elder twin, propped up on his elbows, squinted at them as if, for once, he were the one irritated by their antics, dramatically rolling his eyes.

They painstakingly climbed up one more hill, before finally, _finally_ seeing the end result of the culminated progress they made from the moment they exited the bus to this very moment.

Shiny, snowy skyscrapers reflecting even the smallest of stray sun, standing proud and upright.  
They could reach the city within a few hours.

Atsumu groaned as he stepped off his sled and used his crutches to join everyone else at the top, entranced by the sight of eternal snow, a mirror reflecting the sky above.

“Hey. . .” Kosaku spoke, “wasn’t Tokyo a lot. . . wasn’t it bigger, before?”

“Now that you mention it, it feels like. . .”  
Kita frowned, brushing his dual-colored behind his ear, hands on his hips.  
“. . . More than a few neighborhoods are missin’.”

The area the size of a multitude of soccer fields surrounding Tokyo looked like a flattened, icy wasteland.  
No cozy family houses they were familiar with seeing when visiting the city, only wavy white, with only Tokyo’s core rings of neighborhoods remaining in the distance.

“Isn’t that Rainbow Bridge? There, to the right?!”  
“Is it? But it’s not really a bridge -- ”  
“No no, it is. It’s Rainbow Bridge for sure. . .”  
“. . . How?”

Akagi swallowed, shaking off a shiver.  
“. . . You know, we have no idea what disasters happened here. Doesn’t necessarily have to be another earthquake.”

“You mean. . .” Ren trailed.  
“. . . Like, a. . . tsunami?”

Osamu sharply inhaled, exhaling a large breath cloud.

“Are you implying Tokyo got hit by a tsunami?” Gin asked, resounding disbelief.  
“And that the fuckin’ tsunami itself got frozen over mid-wave, and enclosed the lower neighborhoods within a casket of frozen sea-water?”

“Yes,” Ren weakly confirmed, “. . . That is exactly what I’m implying.”

“That would mean we’ve already reached Tokyo,” Suna said.  
“It means we’re going to be walking on top of entire neighborhoods if we want to reach. . . whatever is left.”

“It’s impossible, then.”  
Atsumu’s eyes were wide, realizing, slowly soaking deep into their bones.  
“. . . Not only is it impossible there are no frozen people caught underneath, but also. . .”

Osamu nodded, gaze fixed on what was left of Tokyo on the horizon.

“. . . Not every volleyball team heading to Tokyo could’ve possibly survived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “. . . There’s nothin’ out there anymore,” his best friend stated.  
> “Only half of Tokyo is left. Most people are probably dead. Why’re we assuming we will be rescued?”
> 
> Suna bit his lip, smiling slightly, in defeat.  
> He supposed they’d have to talk about it at some point.
> 
> “Even if Japan’s frozen over, other countries might organise evac missions,” he offered, “We just need to stay alive until that happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is bit longer than usual!
> 
> I once again apologize for the present lack of what's described in the tags, but please -- be prepared for next chapter.  
> I'll be sure to warn you all again beforehand in the notes.
> 
> By the way, I absolutely loved writing this chapter, it's one of my new favorites, so please leave comments and/or kudos if you enjoyed <3

“We should cross the frozen water while we can.”  
“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t think -- ”  
“I’m not going to wait around any longer than needed. The longer we wait, the more chance another disaster can take us by surprise.”

“My eyes hurt.”  
Akagi voiced his complaint, disguised matter-of-factly.  
He sat down on the edge of one of the sleds, next to Atsumu.  
“Like, it really fuckin’ hurts.”

“Ultraviolet reflection,” Aran nodded, “Overexposure.”

“Also known as snow blindness,” Kosaku explained, to Suna’s relief.  
“. . . Man, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to continue on.”

Kita wasn’t exactly trying to keep his argument with former coach Oomi quiet -- perhaps even spoke loudly on purpose in a spark of pettiness -- because he didn’t seem to be too happy with the adult in general.

They stood on the edge of Tokyo -- or, the frozen over section.  
The core with its skyscrapers stood still in the distance.  
Leading up to the leftover city, though, they could vaguely spot the roofs of various skyscrapers and buildings that peeked out just above the frozen waterline.

The outer neighborhoods of the city had become a graveyard buried underneath their feet, solid ice and possibly containing thousands of people.  
They didn't know whether Tokyo had been evacuated or not, after all.

Deciding to take a break at the border between the snowy highway and frozen sea, Ren and Gin had wandered off to explore around, and came back to the group as excited as they could be, telling the others they found an abandoned gas station a little further back.

Since nobody had a clear idea of time anymore, Kita suggested they stay to sleep and recharge in said gas station, yet Oomi seemed keen on disagreeing.

With a sigh, Suna shamelessly huddled close to Osamu, who picked up on the hint rather quickly and held onto his arm.  
They leeched off of each other, stealing warmth yet giving back in return.

“Ya look like a pair of penguins,” Atsumu told them.  
“Just standin’ there all creepily. . . Seriously, only the two of ya can be scary while doing absolutely nothing.”

“I think he’s complimenting us,” Suna mumbled into Osamu’s ear.

Neither moved another muscle, intently staring at the visibly uncomfortable Atsumu, who fiddled with the fluff of his coat and cast them nervous glances every now and then.

Then, “Ya got snow. . . right here,” the younger twin noted, reaching up with his unoccupied gloved hand to softly swipe at Suna’s nose, making the latter go cross-eyed as he tracked his movements.

Their breath clouds collided, every whisp casting a bit of momentary heat to Suna’s nose and cheeks, yet just as quickly grew cold and lifeless.

Suna simply watched Osamu from up-close, smiling at him, fondly.

“You wanna check out the gas station?” he offered, “I trust Kita won’t let us go out there, no matter what Oomi wants.”

“Sure. I don’t get what’s causin’ him to be such a. . .”  
“Useless grown-up in the time of need?”  
“. . . I was goin’ to say _dick_ , but. . . yeah, that too.”

Suna snickered, tugging on Osamu’s hand as he walked backwards, pulling him along.  
Atsumu, adjusting his broken leg to the sled, cast them a filthy, envious glare as the two broke away from the group, sticking out his tongue.

Suna flipped him off behind Osamu’s back.

After a longer amount of wandering and searching than Suna would ever admit to, the two second-years found the gas station, as snowy as the trees surrounding it, lost and forgotten to the side of the highway.

A light flickered inside, ghostly and illuminating the aisles.

Osamu waddled up to a window, passing the gas pumps, and peered inside.  
Suna followed up right behind, his gaze passing over the empty racks for showcase, lightly nudging one, cold and metallic.

Here, they were shielded from the still-falling snow, and they only had the howling, icy wind to deal with -- which made a great difference.  
Without the continuous cold and wet patches cooling their skin, the air felt a little warmer than before.

Osamu’s breath clouded the window, his hands on either side of his face as he checked inside the supposedly abandoned gas station.

“It doesn’t look like someone’s been here,” the younger twin concluded, moving away from the window.  
“Yet there’s a car right there.”

He pointed to a bronze sedan parked next to one of the gas pumps further down the lane.  
Its tire tracks were non-existent, covered up by the snow, so Suna couldn’t deduce if the owner had arrived before or after the snow started to cage the landscape in white.

“Might be a survivor,” Suna suggested, but he couldn’t help the curdling suspicion in his stomach.  
He’s never been one in favor of the goodwill of humanity, and these past few days only made him take a more antagonistic attitude towards people he didn’t personally know -- with the exception of the kind lady from the ryokan.

“. . . Might be someone who doesn’t want to share shelter with a bunch of high-schoolers.”

“Should we really enter by ourselves, then?”  
Osamu seemed to have the same idea as Suna.

Generally distrusting.

Suna didn’t answer, instead searching for anything laying around he could possibly use as a weapon -- or, he supposed, something to defend himself and Osamu with, but he knew of himself he wasn’t afraid to hurdle a metal pipe at a stranger’s head if threatened.

He stumbled up to one of the metal racks, and to his delight, his lazy search attempt was rewarded by a lone, boxed mini tactical shovel that had fallen out of the stand, its carton packaging wet and soppy.

“I’ve always wondered why gas stations even sell these,” he hummed, tearing through the packaging to reveal a sharply edged, silver shovel, the handle fitting perfectly within his hands.  
“. . . And still do. But I guess I can only thank them for it now.”

Suna found he felt reassured by the weight of the shovel in his hands.

Osamu’s shadow cast over his shoulder as he peeked at his findings, softly humming in mild surprise.

“Ya could murder someone with that thing,” he noted.

“Yeah,” the brunet nodded, looking at his best friend, his reddened ears and soft hue adorning his once full, now hollow cheeks.  
“. . . I could.”

“Don’t, though,” Osamu hastily added, “‘cause who knows when we’ll be able to properly wash our clothing. Blood’s a pain to clean.”

“How would you know? . . . Is there something you’re not telling me, Osamu -- ”  
“Believe me, ‘Tsumu and I got into enough fights for our mom to complain about the stains.”

Snorting, Suna shook his head, reaching for the _push_ door.  
Unsurprisingly, the entrance inside the gas station was locked.

Wordlessly, the pair went around the back, in the hope of finding some sort of employee only door.

Which they did, but --

“Locked,” Osamu grumbled, shoving his hands back inside his coat’s pocket, pulling up his lips into a rare, irritated pout, one that even Suna rarely got to see, because Atsumu pouted a lot and the younger twin tried to actively not be like him.

But Atsumu wasn’t nearby, and the two best friends allowed themselves to let their guard down in only each other’s presence.

One of Suna’s various privileges regarding Osamu, and one of many reasons he inevitably caught feelings.

“Well, we better find a way in before the others get here,” Suna said, “I know you’ve noticed it’s getting a lot colder, too.”

“There’s a window.”  
Osamu nodded up towards a small window near the roof and air filter, dirty, cracked and slightly ajar.

They exchanged a knowing, calculating glance.  
Suna silently dared him to suggest the inescapable outcome of this staring contest.

“Rin, on my shoulders ya go.”  
“Ah, _fuck_.”

Laughing, Osamu went down on his knees into the snow, and like the lovestruck fool Suna was, he let his imagination get the better of him.

Like a proposal, firstly.  
With a shiny ring in a velvet box, with the stars and moon on the backdrop --  
Then again, knowing Osamu, Suna might have to end up being the one to do the actual proposing.

This was one of two scenarios that crossed his mind, significantly purer than the second.

Osamu could be on his knees for very, very different reasons.

“. . . ‘Samu, I’m disturbing myself again,” he sighed, his blush burning away the snowflakes fluttering onto his cheeks.

“That’s nothin’ new. Hurry up, my kneecaps are freezing.”

Heaving a loud sigh, Suna braced himself against the dirty, graffitied wall.  
He noticed with a sense of smugness that Osamu’s face had grown multiple shades redder, gruff and frowning, and Suna. . .

He couldn’t help but imagine once more.  
He couldn’t help but hope the very reason his best friend blushed was because they shared the same type of affection.

Hoisted up into the air, a pair of strong arms steadying his legs, Suna felt Osamu’s shoulder tremble under his weight, and he felt extremely bad.  
He quickly threw his tactical shovel through the window with near-perfect aim, shattering the glass and hearing it thud inside.

With strengthened resolve, he reached up and clawed at the window’s framing, easily removing the remaining glass shards before mentally making a leap and pulling himself up.

He groaned, his body doubling over as he more or less fell inside the gas station into a heap of carton boxes.

Inside, it was dry.  
Significantly warmer, isolated, and Suna hesitantly felt safe.  
Still, he was uneasy.  
Surrounded in darkness, a shiver crept up his spine.

He quickly grabbed the shovel from the ground, before dusting the snow off of his coat.

“Are ya okay?” Osamu called, voice somewhat muffled.

“I’m fine,” Suna called back, “I’ll see if I can unlock the storage room door so you can get inside as well.”

Because it was uncomfortable, being in here alone.  
The wall separating him from Osamu felt daunting, an obstacle, and Suna wouldn’t be able to get to him again unless he opened that backroom door.

What if someone snuck up on Osamu, he doubted people cared about morals now that half of Japan is dead --

Luckily for them both, the key was still inside the keyhole, and Suna fumbled to turn it and push the door open.  
He got instantly blasted by wind and snow, and then Osamu, who enveloped him in a tight bear hug the moment the door swung open.

It felt as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.  
It had not even been five minutes, but the reassuring warmth and joy that washed over Suna seemed incredibly in place.

“Let’s check out inside,” he reluctantly mumbled.  
Osamu broke away from him and locked the door again, before fishing the key out and slipping it inside his coat’s pocket.

Armed with the tactical shovel and Osamu to watch his back, they creeped out of the storage room and behind the cash register, providing an outlook into the gas station’s shop.

Nothing seemed out of order, and Suna gradually relaxed.

“. . . I was thinkin’,” Osamu started, whispering, and the other felt compelled to do so as well.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Suna teased, “Better watch out.”  
He deserved the punch his shoulder suffered.

“. . . There’s nothin’ out there anymore,” his best friend stated.  
“Only half of Tokyo is left. Most people are probably dead. Why’re we assuming we will be rescued?”

Suna bit his lip, smiling slightly, in defeat.  
He supposed they’d have to talk about it at some point.

“Even if Japan’s frozen over, other countries might organise evac missions,” he offered, “We just need to stay alive until that happens.”

Suna wasn’t an optimist by any means, but Osamu wasn’t either.  
This usually meant that, in dire situations -- _once upcoming tests at school or in regards to volleyball matches_ \--, either one had to take on the role of somewhat optimistic, and this time that role fell onto Suna.

“Won’t happen if we’re all popsicles,” the other grumbled, shaking his head.  
“Or else ex-coach Oomi will lead us into an early grave.”

He flopped down into one of the blue wheely chairs behind the cash register, and Suna followed, tactical shovel safely on the floor next to him.

“Now, now,” the brunet tried, “At least you’re stuck with us. It could’ve been worse.”

He reached out and took Osamu’s hands into his own, gazing up to check if it was okay, then carefully removing his gloves to reveal the bandages.  
He did the same to his own, blazing red fingertips tingling, grateful for the lack of cutting wind and cold.

“I’m glad we’re together in this,” Suna admitted, his thumb tracing the knuckles of Osamu’s left hand.  
“You and I. And everyone else, but. . . Especially you and I.”

The irritated flare in Osamu’s eyes softened, shoulders slacking into a slump.

“I was scared, you know?” he continued.  
“In the bus. In the middle of the earthquake. I couldn’t see you, find you, and. . . it’s selfish, right?”

When seconds passed and he didn’t elaborate, Osamu’s raspy voice asked, “Rin. . . what’s selfish?”

“I want you to stay at my side forever. It’s the most selfish thing a person can wish for.”

He pulled Osamu’s hands close to his chest, swallowing dryness in his throat.

“I’ve always wanted that. It sounds cheesy, I know -- Before all this shit, I was content with what we already had. But now. . .”

He didn’t dare look at his best friend’s face.  
He bared his heart open for him in the middle of an abandoned gas station, and he wasn’t stopping now.  
If Suna looked up and found disgust in Osamu's expression, he truly didn’t know what he would do.

“But now it’s kind of too late. It’s just like you said. Everywhere is snow, we _saw_ people die, we saw _children_ die --”

He sharply inhaled, bringing Osamu’s burning hands to his mouth, and in a last act of showing affection, he chose to press his lips to his fingers, and kiss.  
Hands trembled in his own, fingers shook as his warm breath fanned across the back of Osamu’s hand.

“What will we find in Tokyo, ‘Samu?” he asked, his voice breaking.  
“Will we find food and warmth and safety? Or will we find our rival’s corpses?”

Warmth enclosed his entire body as Osamu lunged forward out of his chair and pulled him into a chaotic grasp, nearly sending them both to the floor.  
Suna caught him, the two balancing on top of the singular chair, with Osamu buried into his shoulder and nestled against his chest, silently clutching the fluff of his coat.

“The fuck, Rin, don’t fuckin’ say that,” he grumbled, “We’re all here in this shit together, aren’t we? First and foremost, I’m here with ya, which is most important.”

The added weight made the chair creak underneath them.

It also made Suna feel some special kind of way.  
A confirmation that they were still alive and human, and he had something to hold, to protect, to keep, and it was Osamu.

“Are you crying?” he weakly asked.  
“. . . ‘Samu, you’re one year away from graduating, you. . . you big baby.”

“Call me whatever ya want, I don’t care,” the other replied, muffled as he hid his face into the crook of Suna’s neck like it was a casual gesture between friends.  
“There’s no age limit to being allowed to cry.”

Suna’s own eyes burnt.  
“. . . _Shit_ , you’re right.”

As his heart beat livid, as his chest felt unbreathably hot, they stayed in silence for a few minutes.

Then Osamu tilted his head upward, his grey eyes watery and mellow, but so much alive, and their noses touched and no more verbal agreement was needed.

Osamu’s knees dug into his thighs as they barely fit together.

Open-mouthed and inelegant, their lips met and they breathed the same air.  
The edge of desperation barely went unnoticed, as Suna tightened his hold, pressing them together and perfectly imperfect.

When they parted, Osamu carefully settled into his lap as he realised the chair wouldn’t collapse under them just yet.

“. . . It only took for Japan to freeze over,” he muttered, remaining close and his soft in- and exhales brushing Suna’s cheek.  
The latter breathily chuckled, pressing their foreheads together.

“Better late than never.”  
Patches of heat formed where they touched, their bodies eager to absorb each other’s warmth.  
Set ablaze, it felt like how a singular spark slowly flared into a campfire, it spread, slowly but stronger.

“. . . We’ll be fine. We’ll meet the end of the world as a true power couple,” Osamu decided, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the bridge of his nose.  
“. . . It was fun pretending to ignore yer ogling in the showers for a while, but even I grew frustrated when ya made absolutely no move.”

It was a sucker punch to Suna’s gut that only Osamu could dish out.

Blinking, he raised both eyebrows, wide eyes peering up at a haughtily grinning Osamu, who didn’t even try feigning innocence.

“Excuse me?”  
Absolutely flabbergasted.  
“Are you telling me you knew all along? You are, aren’t you?”

“Well. . .” Osamu trailed, “You weren’t really trying to hide it, I feel like.”

“I always knew you were a worse bastard than Atsumu deep down, but you exceeded my expectations.”

“’m sorry,” the younger twin sighed insincerely, “I _s'pose_ I took a bit too much joy in waiting on yer ass to do somethin’ -- anythin’.”

Suna grumbled, “Good to know you’re secretly a sadist before diving headfirst into a loving relationship.”

Osamu laughed softly, deep and fondly looking down in Suna’s eyes.  
It was only natural the latter would still end up surprised by the mystery that was Osamu, only able to unravel him bit by bit over time.

They exchanged one more kiss, a lot calmer and much more confident this time, before the grey-haired twin made a reluctant show of wriggling out of their locked position on the chair, stumbling to his feet.

“We probably should. . . find a way to open the front door,” Suna sighed, picking up his trusty shovel and with as much athleticism as he could muster, hopped across the counter into the shopping area.

Osamu followed, his hand immediately finding Suna’s free one, and the latter would point out how clingy the other was and how uncharacteristically sweet he found it, but decided against it when a shadow moved in the corner of his eye.

According to Osamu’s sharp inhale and immediate muted breathing, he had noticed as well.

They weren’t alone after all.  
They could’ve been surprise-attacked this entire time, from stumbling into the storage room to fooling around behind the cash register.

The movement had come from between the aisles in the corner furthest away from them, opposite of the locked entrance door.

“Should we make a run for the door, go back through the storage or. . .” Suna whispered, “. . . confront whoever’s been hiding like a creeper for god knows how long.”

“I know ya said you wouldn’t mind fighting a guy, but would ya risk a Kita speech about recklessness in exchange for bonkin’ a stranger over their head?”

Good point.  
The two of them had been away from the group for a fair while now, and they could expect the rest to join them at the gas station anytime.

“You’re right,” Suna admitted, “Strength in numbers, after all. Whoever is out there wouldn’t attack us if we’re all together.”

“Where would the key be?”  
“. . . Somewhere around in the cash register box?”

Sure enough, when Suna jumped back over -- having handed the shovel Osamu, who scanned the store with alert hawkeyes -- and rummaged through the metal lockers to the side, he found a set of keys attached to a keyring.

“Bingo, bingo,” he hummed, smugly swinging the keys back and forth around his finger.  
“Let’s go, ‘Samu. Quickly.”

Using the aisles as cover, they snuck towards the locked front door, hiding behind rows of snacks and packaged cookies and energy drinks.

Osamu snatched a bag of chips from one as they passed by, somehow managing to do so without making a sound.

Through the clouded window, they saw the others approach, Akagi and Kita gesturing wildly towards each other, Atsumu wearing a sour expression as he limped along with his crutches, Aran at his side in case he misstepped.

Relief washed over Suna, tension ebbing away as he combed through the keys.  
Osamu waved at them, ripping open his chips bag, only every now and then glancing to the back of the store.

Whoever was in here with them, didn’t seem hostile.  
Perhaps, they were more scared of them than vice versa -- like the cicadas, as Suna’s father used to tell him when he were a child and cried whenever one of the insects as much as moved an inch.

The door clicked open at the most perfect timing, just as the group hurried to take cover at the gas station, out of the snow.

“Welcome,” Suna called, “To our humble abode. By the way, there’s someone in here already.”

Oomi briskly broke away from the group and stomped over to the two, furious and shaking his head, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a snarl.

Suna instinctively backed away when sharp eyes zoned in on him, stumbling into Osamu who helpfully steadied him.  
When he regained his footing, Suna swallowed and pulled himself together, standing up straight in front of his new boyfriend.

He wasn’t used to adults approaching him with any trace of hostility, and yet, he wasn’t going to cower, he didn’t _need_ to cower, normality was thrown out the window when deadly ice started falling from the sky --

Ex-coach Oomi wasn’t that big of a deal anymore.

Stopping in front of them, Oomi towered over the two, looking down on them.  
“You two! Why did you sneak away without telling anyone?! If anything happened to either one of you, nobody would’ve known!” he spat.

“You’re very quick to switch sides, aren’t you?” Suna retorted, raising an eyebrow.  
“First you want to force us to get out onto the frozen sea after hours of nonstop walking, and _now_ you choose to be worried about our wellbeing?!”

Oomi’s jaw clenched and unclenched, shaking his head in disbelief, anger, confusion at his former student’s blatant defiance.  
Suna supposed it would be quite the personality switch for him, as he was never one for confrontation, but then again -- he usually didn’t have any reason to.

Ex-coach Oomi was all over the place, needlessly trying to regain what authority he used to have, before the calamities.

Osamu crunched a potato chip.  
“. . . Coach Kurosu would’ve realised we were gone within a minute.”

Akagi snorted, muttering a _damn_ underneath his breath.  
It was clear the younger twin had hit the nail on its head when Oomi shot him a blank look, blinking as if trying to process what was just said.

“. . . Anyway,” Kita carefully spoke up, “What did you say about someone else being inside the gas station?”

With a scoff, Suna stalked past a figuratively frozen Oomi, pulling along Osamu, who was being stared holes into by the one adult in their group.

“We found a way in via. . . the storage,” Suna vaguely stated.  
“Both of us saw someone move somewhere in the back of the shop.”

“Where’d you. . . uh. . .”  
Riseki nervously glanced at the sharp shovel in Suna’s dominant hand.  
“. . . get that thing from?”

“Lying around.”  
The brunet shrugged.  
“Just for precaution. That person inside could’ve attacked us, and if they did and I had no weapon, well. . . you know.”

He traced his finger horizontally alongside his neck.  
Riseki shivered, and quickly looked away.

Kita clapped his hands together once, smiling innocently at Oomi.  
“Sir, surely you wouldn’t want any of us to enter and confront the potentially dangerous stranger?”

A long few seconds passed.  
Oomi stared at the entirety of them with a distantly melancholic, cold expression.

All watched him, without a word, turning around and going inside the gas station, shoulders sharply rutted in the air, white clouds steadily rising.

“When did ya guys turn into such bullies?” Ren asked, pointedly glancing at Suna and Osamu.

“Oh, we always were,” the first answered.  
“Atsumu would know,” Osamu added, followed by a hiss from said blond.

A few hums in agreement.

Gin not-so-nonchalantly questioned, “Say, you two have been holding hands quite a lot lately, haven’t you?”

“That’s very observant of you,” Suna deadpanned, thrusting their linked hands in the air for the remainders of the world to see.  
“ _Apparently_ , this could’ve been a thing for weeks, if ‘Samu wasn’t such a sadistic asshole.”

“You’re telling me he knew of your obvious pining this entire time? Wow, I’m so surprised,” Kosaku said, laughing.

“I cannot believe,” Ren joined his jest, “That he noticed your heart-eyes. What a plot twist.”

Suna was about to retort, most definitely, he didn’t have heart-eyes --  
\-- when footsteps sounded louder and turned everyone’s attention back to the gas station.

Oomi walked side-by-side with a foreign-looking woman, carrying a young child in her arms.  
Her dull, blue eyes flitted back and forth between them, while her daughter’s matching, brighter eyes watched them with great interest.

The woman’s clothes were dirtied, her stockings torn around the knee areas, her blond hair messy.

“Hello,” she hesitantly greeted them in Japanese, her pronunciation slightly hinting at her native tongue.  
“I'm sorry for. . . I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She apologetically looked at Suna.  
Her daughter cried out happily, her tiny hands reaching out to none other than Osamu, whose grip on Suna’s hand tightened, his half-empty bag with chips falling to the ground.

Suna watched his Adam's apple slowly move up and down.

“It’s totally fine, they didn’t mean to scare you and your child either,” Aran said, “We would only like to stay around for a few hours to rest up and sleep, if you don’t mind.”

She smiled, visibly relaxed, and nodded.  
“Of course not. It would be horrible to turn away anyone in this weather.”

“Thank you so much,” Kita breathed, bowing before her, and she returned the gesture as well as she could with her kid in her arms.

One by one, they trickled inside the gas station, shrugging off their coats, revealing large patches of sweat on their backs.

The woman introduced herself as Catherine, and her daughter as Mia.  
She was originally from America, but had come to Japan to visit her grandparents.  
She’d been refilling her fuel tank just as the ice began to fall, and one by one, the gas station workers had left after it cleared up, and only she and her daughter remained.

They were asked to lock up the gas station again, and Suna did as told with his keyring.  
She politely asked how he and Osamu managed to find a way inside, which resulted into a recollection that resulted into Kita praising them for their apparent resourcefulness.

They obviously left out their private moment behind the cash register.

Catherine showed them where she’d been hunkered down; she’d pushed around a few aisles and cabinets to form a reclusive corner, created a designated fire place and slowly burned through the stacks of newspapers and tourist guides.

She had been preparing sandwiches in the Fresh Foods section and occasionally ate pre-packaged ones.

Catherine had an almost endless supply of food, ranging from beef jerky to the sandwiches to Greek yogurt and protein bars.

Suffice to say, every single one of Inarizaki High felt like this gas station was akin to a gift from the gods, providing shelter and food and warmth.

Cateherine rekindled the fire she’d hastily trampled when she heard the window in the storage room shatter, receiving happy sighs and relieved moans in return.

Her daughter Mia continued to make grabby hands towards Osamu, which the woman couldn’t longer ignore, so Catherine gently smiled and asked if the younger twin would like to hold her for a bit --

\-- and Suna couldn’t help but admire this lady.

She trusted a bunch of Japanese high-schoolers barging in on her shelter enough to share her food.  
Suna had imagined people to quickly reach a more hostile attitude in a survival situation like this, but Catherine seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, having survived multiple days alone with a child.

Osamu softly accepted, and Mia rejoiced in being set in his arms, plucking at the strands of his grey hair and brightening up the space with her giggles more so than the blazing fire.

“. . . I do wonder why it’s taking the government this long to undertake action,” Suna overheard Catherine say to Aran, while he himself watched Osamu and the little girl interact.  
“Have they abandoned us?”

“I would hope not,” the third-year mumbled, chewing on a strip of jerky.  
“. . . Did you see, by any chance, what happened to Tokyo?”

She nodded.  
“I did. I decided to check outside and take a breather, when I saw a wave roll up, meters high, unstopping and flooding the city. It was. . . horrifying. The water settled and pulled back towards the sea, when. . .”

Catherine shook her head, biting her lip.  
“. . . Nothing changed. No snow, no hail. . . but the waves became solid, blue became glassy white, and sea, it. . . it froze.”

_“It just froze.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like sitting ducks.”  
> Suna grabbed the finished sandwiches and Gin held open the swing door so he could easily pass through.  
> “We don’t know if there are any survivors.”
> 
> “There have to be. The skyscrapers we saw from afar, those were a few of the tallest hotels, with the strongest foundations and anti-disaster measures in Japan. Pretty sure at least one of those is where a few other volleyball teams should’ve been stayin’ at as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> I have a good excuse though, listen --
> 
> This chapter is twice as long as usual.  
> It's 6k+ words, because I didn't want to cut it in half, as it's best read in one go.
> 
> I'm also participating in the SunaOsa exchange, AND I'm writing a fic alongside this one that'll be published only once I've completely written it.  
> I also do art on Instagram.
> 
> Basically what I'm saying is that updates will be slower.
> 
>  **IN THIS CHAPTER, BEWARE;** Implied/referenced suicide, character death.

The first time Suna woke up that night, he was met with a pair of unwavering, grey eyes looking back at him, and he had to swallow a gasp as to not make a sound.  
He was pretty sure Osamu was the very cause of him waking up -- perhaps his brain somehow registered he was being looked at, being watched.

Osamu, wrapped up in a heat-retaining blanket like a burrito, shimmied closer towards the sleepy-eyed brunet, cheekbones illuminated by the flickering fire at their feet.

Suna watched how his blanket moved every time he breathed, his eyelashes fluttered with every blink, how a few stray strands of his dyed hair curled around his ear.

All around them they heard light and muffled snores, and the faint crackling of the flames consuming yet another copy of _Hidden Gems of Tokyo City; a Guide._

It was entirely dark outside.

“Didn’t think I could feel this warm ever again,” Suna whispered, not wanting to wake anyone up.  
His hand reached out his blanket cocoon to have it settle on his newly acquired boyfriend’s cheek, thumb brushing a dark eyelash away.

“. . . Do ya think she felt any pain?”  
Osamu’s voice was as soft as humanly possible while still being able to be properly heard.

The blood red shoes flashed in Suna’s mind, remembering what he desperately tried to bury, among various other memories.  
He’d known it was only a matter of time until Osamu would want to talk about it, even if Suna would rather never.  
However, this was part of their life now, and shying away from the subject would be redundant.

Perhaps triggered because of Mia, if Osamu decided now was the time to tackle the little girl’s death, so be it.

“No,” Suna replied, fingers trailing down to the exposed skin of Osamu’s neck.  
“I don’t think she did. You saw the speed that truck went.”

“Right? I couldn’t have done anything, right? She. . .” the other trailed, “. . . I couldn’t have.”

“You would’ve died alongside her,” Suna affirmed, guiding Osamu to lean into him as he himself laid back.

Osamu went along, moving over to rest his head onto Suna’s chest, arm loosely slung over his stomach.  
He closed his eyes, listening to Suna’s heartbeat, to the life still coursing through their veins.

“What do you think really happened with coach Kurosu and Oomi?”

Suna thought he might as well bring it up.  
Considering they were still alive, though battered and most likely not all 100% here mentally, all because of Kita and Aran, Kurosu’s passing had softened.  
Like a crooked healing cream to his mind, the way everything happened around them so quickly and without their choice, he didn’t have time to grieve.

The facts were all there.  
He would never see his own father again, nor his coward mother, nor coach Kurosu or anyone else from Inarizaki High.

And yet.

He was able to feel happy, with Osamu near, warm and reassuring.  
Maybe he should feel guilty, for being able to be content when Tokyo City was ravaged by the very sea it once treasured.

“Yer conspiring? Ya don’t think Oomi’s lyin’ about it, do you?”  
“Not necessarily. . . I mean, coach Kurosu’s not here with us, so. . . I get that leaving someone behind to die can put a number on someone, but Oomi used to be a person we depended on, too. Why the sudden disregard?”

Osamu vaguely shrugged.  
“He used to be assistant coach for a reason. Coach Kurosu was always there no matter what, and now that he’s not. . .”

_Now that he’s not, it might be too much to suddenly handle._

Suna sighed, leaning forward to nose Osamu’s soft cheek, closing his eyes.  
“If he’s not going to take responsibility, at least let Kita ‘n Aran lead the way without complaint,” he whispered, voice turned rough and groggy.

Osamu turned away, leaving Suna to revel in the way his ears turned red.  
The latter hid his grin in the other’s shoulder, stifling a chuckle.  
He added fuel to the fire by pressing a kiss to Osamu’s nape, just below his hairline.

 _“Rin,”_ he huffed, trying to sound reprimanding.  
“‘Tsumu’s _right there -- ”_

Suna laughed softly, fingers trembling as he pulled Osamu to his chest, assigning himself the role of big spoon.  
The other accepted his predicament with a poorly disguised smile.

“. . . Don’t you think we really should be stinking up the place right now? I mean,” the brunet wondered, “We haven’t showered in over three days.”

Osamu grunted softly, “‘m too used to Tsumu’s dirty socks lyin’ around everywhere, I’m immune to student stench.”

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?”  
“Rin, stop. I’m not an oracle.”  
“C’mon, give me your thoughts. Or I’ll discover where you’re most ticklish.”  
“Tomorrow. . . we’re on _draggin’-‘Tsumu’s-ass-along_ duty.”

It’d been pretty funny at first -- a pouting, angry Atsumu on top of a sled being pulled along, but as the hours had passed, Suna started to begrudgingly pity him more than anything.

“Great, can’t wait to listen to his sad boy spiel.”

Within a few minutes, he felt Osamu’s body relax against his own, slack within his hold, eyes shut and lips parted slightly.  
Suna soon followed his lead back into the realm of nightmares.

**xxx**

“. . . --your leg?”  
“. . . ‘s fine. . . it’s achin’ and stiff. . .”

Suna fervently prayed he could fall back asleep, as he felt his conscience slowly seeping back into reality, catching a few words and phrases exchanged by the twins.  
He didn’t bother announcing he was awake, kept his eyes closed and instead shifted his posture a bit, keeping his arm around Osamu’s waist.

Not many hours after his first break from sleeping could’ve passed, as only darkness clouded his eyelids, and the snores of his teammates continued on.

Suna thought this must be a side effect to everything they experienced.  
The twins miraculously kept quiet in their chatting, which meant his body decided to wake up by itself, something within his brain triggered it.  
Osamu had also woken up again, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the others had trouble sleeping as well.

“So, ya. . . with Suna, huh?”  
Suna could only imagine the smug, suggestive grin currently being worn on Atsumu’s face -- he counted himself lucky for now, but knew he would be interrogated sooner or later when Atsumu’s hidden protective-older-brother mode made an appearance.

“Yeah,” Osamu whispered back, a bit shyly and in a softer tone than before.  
“Me ‘n Rin. At the end of the world.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter, end of the world or not.. Whether we’re dead in a day or two. . . I just wish I knew whether Omi-Omi and everyone else is still. . . ya know. . . _alive_.”  
“Ya really think Sakusa was bested by the Pacific Ocean?”

Atsumu laughed out loud, instant regret dawning as he slapped his hand over his mouth, glancing around like he’d committed a homicide.

“No,” he answered between subdued hiccups, “The Pacific Ocean is fucked.”

The two continued to chatter for a bit longer, softly bickering about how grateful Atsumu should be for not having to walk through the snow, only for the blond to point out that he’d really rather not have a broken leg.

It was the third time that night Suna fell asleep, and he sincerely hoped it would be the last.

**xxx**

Shrill wailing sliced the silence like a knife, shocking Suna awake, his eyes squinting and nose scrunched up in the faint morning light, filtered and tittering at the edge of dawn.

A red-faced, crying Mia sat up straight next to her rousing mother.

Osamu groaned loudly, clasping his blanket and pulling it over his head, diving back into the warmth, chasing sleep.

Watching everyone reluctantly waking was the only thing making the situation somewhat acceptable to Suna; how Akagi yawned with his mouth wide open, how Kita couldn’t get rid of his annoyance at the rude awakening quick enough, and how Riseki completely disappeared and curled up into a ball underneath his blankets.

It almost looked like a fun sleepover.

“Rin. . . ?”  
Osamu’s grey mop of hair poked out, eyes peeking over the edge, droopy and pleading.  
“. . . ‘m hungry. . .”

“I see,” Suna replied, able to keep a straight face.  
“What’re you going to do about it?”

Osamu grumbled loudly, muffled by the fabric.  
“. . . I’m going to eat potato chips for breakfast.”

Suna’s mask quickly cracked.  
Amused, he bent over to press a kiss to Osamu’s forehead.  
“I thought you were the cook out of us, not me. I’ll make a few sandwiches, you spoiled bastard.”

Maybe Ren’s earlier jab at his heart-eyes weren’t as far off as he hoped it to be.

Mia had stopped crying, tightly hugging her mother who gently shushed her, shooting apologetic smiles around.

Followed by a yawn and crackling ankles, Suna sauntered over to the Fresh Foods section, got behind the register and monotonously prepared the first sandwich like an employee would have done.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Osamu hand both his brother and Akagi a bag with candy from a shelf, hiding the sugary goods within their sleeping bags, just in time before Kita’s hawkeyes swept over them.

Adding a slice of cheese to the small baguette, Suna thought about how grateful they should be for Kita.  
Whenever he was subbed in on court, he formed their cornerstone, their stability among the slowly unfolding panic that came with lagging points behind.  
He was never in it for the glory, for the applause, or for the praise.

Kita was simply being himself, doing what he found he needed to do.  
There was no ulterior motive.

They could bicker and fight among themselves as much as they wanted, but in the end, Kita tied them all together, because they all knew that they could depend on him, both on and off court.

If anyone was going to survive the world as it is now, it would be Kita; unless he got dragged down by a mistake made by one of them.

A shadow fell over Suna.

Gin rested his elbows on top of the register, watching the brunet’s nimble fingers move onto the next sandwich.  
“Now all yer missing is an apron.”

“We’re closed,” Suna announced, “Please come back again tomorrow.”

“Oh? And what do you think you’re preparing now, huh?”  
“. . . These are special service sandwiches.”  
“Of course, for your end-of-the-world-boyfriend. Got it.”

Suna found it strangely comforting that nobody from their team was surprised at him and Osamu.  
They really shouldn’t be, as he’d found out from them they were both pretty obvious, but it still made him feel good about his friends.

Suna allowed a grin, rolling his eyes, and finally looking up to meet a pair of sandy orbs.  
“How’d you sleep? I woke up multiple times for no reason.”

“Like a rock,” Gin answered, “No problems whatsoever. And unlike the night before, I didn’t have any nightmares.”

Suna sniffed, “Eh, lucky. Me ‘n Samu talked for a bit. More end of the world stuff.”

Gin nodded in understanding.  
“We’re almost at Tokyo. Just gotta cross the frozen sea and reach the core of the city, and wait.”  
He snatched a slice of cucumber and plopped it in his mouth.

“Like sitting ducks.”  
Suna grabbed the finished sandwiches and Gin held open the swing door so he could easily pass through.  
“We don’t know if there are any survivors.”

“There have to be. The skyscrapers we saw from afar, those were a few of the tallest hotels, with the strongest foundations and anti-disaster measures in Japan. Pretty sure at least one of those is where a few other volleyball teams should’ve been stayin’ at as well.”

“. . . The teams who arrived even an hour or two before when our bus got stopped, could be safe within one of those hotels?”  
“Exactly. Whoever is inside there, is guaranteed safe.”

Tokyo hotels were perfect to wait out until rescue arrived, if what Gin said was true -- which Suna didn’t doubt it was.  
Those skyscrapers weren’t still proudly standing for no reason.

“I wonder if the Tokyo Metropolitan Gym survived,” Gin absentmindedly mumbled.

Suna stopped in his tracks, and turned slightly towards him.  
He hesitated.  
But now was the perfect timing, and he suspected Gin approached him with the same thought.

“. . . Gin,” Suna started, grabbing his attention.  
“Back at the village. . . I’m sorry. I thought ‘Samu was gone, and that’s not an excuse, but it is an explanation. I didn’t mean to send Aran in there, I didn’t mean -- ”

“Hey,” Ginjima interrupted, hand coming to rest on Suna’s shoulder, patting reassuringly.  
“It’s okay. Of course you wouldn’t have wanted him to go back inside the ryokan. Aran told me himself, after he dragged those Miya idiots out, that he wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he left them in there. . . or something sentimental like that.”

He grinned, the two of them watching their friends -- and Catherine -- from afar, momentarily forgetting about the cold on their doorstep and the uncertainty of a tomorrow.

“Ya can always go talk to him ‘bout it. Might be good for both of ya,” Gin concluded, with one last pat to Suna’s shoulder.  
He broke away to sneak up behind Kosaku, who clung to a last thread of sleep, violently shaking him awake, only to be chased away by a string of curses -- cut off by a rare Aran glare, who pointedly shook his head in Catherine and Mia’s direction.

“ -- ‘Tsumu, lemme write on yer leg,” Osamu had found a package with rainbow-colored markers, now strewn around, hand lingering above the smudged bandaging around Atsumu’s broken leg.

The latter scoffed, trying to shush his brother away.

“And let ya draw a dick on it? No thanks.”  
“Even if I use multiple colors?”  
“ _Especially_ if ya use multiple colors.”

Suna plopped down next to Osamu, offering him one of the baguettes, chomping down on his own.  
Atsumu blinked at the food in their hands, before sending an honestly offended look in Suna's direction.

“I can’t believe ya two. All domestic ‘n shit,” the blond scrunched up his nose, “While I’m handicapped and unable to --”

“You can walk,” Suna interrupted, swallowing.  
“Not perfectly, but still.”

Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows, and both Osamu and Suna knew he was plotting something -- a plan was hatching, and the two hesitantly stayed around to hear it.  
There was a fifty-fifty percent chance for it to be either extremely funny and idiotic, or smarter than expected.

The result was inconclusive.

“If ya make me a sandwich, I’ll let ya both draw on my leg.”

Suffice to say, the two spent the next half an hour covering every patch of beige with very colorful dicks, while Atsumu smugly watched on with a baguette in either hand.

“Does anyone know where Kosaku and Gin are at?” Kita asked, and Suna did a double-take around the softly burning fire, at the chaotic mess of blankets and sleeping bags.  
“. . . And Oomi?”

Suna couldn’t recall seeing Oomi this morning at all.

“Probably at the toilet or something. I dunno ‘bout Oomi. . .”  
“Both of ‘em?”  
“At the same time?”

Kita was not amused.  
His unwavering, piercing stare stomped any faint chuckles six feet under.

“Someone go fetch them, I’ll look around for Oomi,” the grey-haired third year sighed, dusting off his lap and standing up.  
“. . . Suna, do you mind?”

Suna didn’t dare say no, despite not exactly wanting to get up and leave the warmth of the fire, newly set ablaze in its former glory by Catherine.  
Kita wouldn’t take any refusal anyway, already disappearing behind the cash register in search of their former assistant coach.

“‘Samu? You’re a walking furnace, come along.”  
“Sorry, but no.”  
“I made you food.”  
“And I’m very thankful for that.”

Suna huffed, betrayed.  
Before he could stand up and leave though, Osamu’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist, pulling him back, closer again.  
They perfectly met in the middle, and Osamu placed a cherry-flavored kiss on his mouth.  
He wrung a wrapped candy in Suna’s idle hand, grinning, pleased with himself.

Someone snorted.  
Probably Atsumu.

Osamu let go of his wrist.  
Suna didn’t know what to say or do, letting a blush settle, before resolutely turning around and speed-walking away, through the aisles.

It was different, in front of other people, instead of only the two of them.

Suna liked it a lot more than he thought he would.

If he was afraid of judgement from others, he would’ve heard about it by now.  
Suna’s never been worried about what his class- or teammates would think, even in regards to something like the gender he happened to like.  
He wouldn’t suddenly start caring about it now that he and Osamu were together either.

They all had one shot at life, which was now possibly cut even shorter by the Earth itself -- why waste any second on what others did or did not understand?

His tongue flicked across his lips, once.  
The artificial cherry flavor lingered.

He unwrapped the candy and let it melt on his tongue.

Lemon.

Suna soon found the door leading into the toilets, opposite bathrooms split for males and females respectively.  
It was silent.  
He would’ve expected there to be noise, especially since Gin and Kosaku could possibly be fooling around.

The lights inside the bathroom were flickering, miraculously still working -- Suna supposed the less demanding electrical appliances in the gas station might thrive on the last bits of emergency electricity, like the fridge in the Fresh Foods section.

It smelled the faintest bit like cleaning supplies, fresh and lemon-y, to the brunet’s imminent relief and past bad experiences with public bathrooms.

He checked the stalls.  
The locks were all green.

“You guys in here?” he asked, just to be sure.  
No answer.

Goosebumps raced across Suna’s skin, the cold finally settling.

Hugging his shoulders, he went back outside the bathroom looking around the aisles for any sign of Gin or Kosaku.  
When this search proved just as fruitless, he hurried back to the flickering orange in the back of the store, happy to be back with the group, but with a gnawing uncertainty eating away in his stomach.

“Not at the toilets,” Suna announced.  
“Neither are.”

“If they were, I would’ve been very worried for their digestive systems,” Akagi joked, draped across his and Aran’s blankets, an apple with a missing bite in his hand.

“They could’ve gone outside,” Riseki suggested, “It is kind of stuffy in here, after all.”

Suna hummed, not fully convinced, joining back up with Osamu, who let his head fall onto his shoulder immediately.  
He did not want to go outside in the snow.  
He’d rather wait on Kita to get back and receive a scolding on his laziness.

“I kinda don’t want to leave,” Osamu confessed softly, only for Suna’s ears.  
“It’s warm and nice and comfortable here. There’s enough food to last us for days.”

Suna was relieved to know he wasn’t alone in that sentiment.  
There was no way of telling what they would find in Tokyo’s core, and if they would be rescued in the first place.

They might as well just wait the cold out here, safely in the gas station, right?  
Except then Atsumu would complain about Sakusa nonstop, until they gave in.

“Oh, Kita.”  
Ren was the only one facing the cash register, his voice making everyone twist their necks to see Kita walk up to them.

Even from a distance, Suna saw Kita’s terrified expression, lips parted and trembling, staggering over to the group and the fire.  
He looked paler than usual.

“Catherine,” Kita said, trying his hardest to control his voice.  
“Aran, Ren, Akagi. . . would you follow me? Please?”

Something was wrong.  
And everyone knew it, yet everyone tried to hide the fact they did.

The aforementioned all stood up, blankets falling to the ground in silence, and Catherine picked up her daughter.

“I don’t think --”  
Kita shook his head.  
“I don’t think you should take Mia along.”

Catherine’s eyes widened.

She wasn’t the only one who heard and realised.  
Suna thought Kita might’ve hoped nobody else other than the ones he specifically addressed would stand up and follow -- he was dead wrong.

Perhaps in the past, perhaps three days ago, they wouldn’t question him and simply wait.

But everyone -- except Atsumu, who merely watched with his mouth shut, fists clenched -- rose up and looked at Kita, as if asking him to lead the way.  
Even Riseki, after a moment of hesitation, joined them, either too curious in the end or unconsciously peer-pressured into following his upperclassmen.

“Guys,” Kita tried.

“. . . There’s not much more left that could scar us anymore,” Akagi bluntly said.

Catherine placed a confused Mia in Atsumu’s arms, who held her with unexpected extreme care.  
“Ya guys have to tell me what’s up when ya get back.”

Kita sighed a sigh that told them he wouldn’t try and convince them to stay.  
“Grab your coats, then.”

When they all wore their fluffy winter coats -- Catherine borrowing Atsumu’s for the time being -- Kita went back the way he came, behind the cash register, and into the storage Suna and Osamu broke into yesterday.

Everything looked the same -- the broken window, the shards on the ground, and the deformed, dented carton boxes Suna had fallen on top off.  
The icy wind howled, a layer of snow rested on top of the highest shelves.

Kita paused in front of the door leading outside, face hidden by the hood of his coat, only the dark tips of his hair visible.

“He’s dead,” was the only warning he gave before opening the door and stepping outside, snowflakes blown into their faces, the wind cutting up their cheeks and noses like miniscule knives.

Suna squeezed Osamu’s hand when the other reached for his.

They stepped outside into the snow they started to fear.

Right around the corner, underneath the broken window, sat a hunched figure on the ground, entirely covered in a thin layer of snow.  
There was no color left, all drained by the ice.

Oomi’s eyes were shut, frost particles sticking to his eyebrows, eyelashes and hair, his gloveless hands blue and purple.  
The shirt he wore was stiff, creases were blown by the wind and frozen in its movement, frozen in time.

The left side facing the wind had a heap of snow gathered, slowly building up to his body.

Suna exhaled, shivered, and instinctively curled into Osamu’s side.

It was obvious --

“He killed himself,” Ren, who stood right next to the brunet, said, voice barely carried louder than the wind.  
“He’s not. . . wearing his coat.”

Akagi wildly shook his head, in frustration, eyebrows furrowed.  
“He just -- went and sat down and waited to _die!”_

Riseki was the first to turn around and head back inside the building.  
He was soon followed by Aran, who didn’t want to stick around any longer, having detected the disdain in Akagi’s voice.

Catherine cast the remaining students a pitiful, unsure glance, not knowing whether it’d be best to leave them be or try to comfort them.

“. . . Coward,” Suna scoffed.

She turned around and disappeared back inside the gas station.

Osamu sighed, “Sunarin.”

“What? He took the easy way out and left us to rot.”  
“We were kinda mean.”  
“He should’ve been able to handle it.”  
“. . . We were all tired and scared. . .”

“You guys.”  
Kita paused in the doorway to the storage, turning his head slightly.  
He looked tired.  
His eyes were half-lidded, sunken and dark.

He looked like how all of them felt.

“. . . Consider leaving the dead to rest.”

Ren followed Kita inside, expression unreadable.

Then it was only Suna, Osamu and Akagi.

The tips of their hair were frosted.

They stood in the snow for minutes.

Akagi left.

Finally, Osamu led Suna back inside, closing the storage door behind them, shutting out the wind and ice, and Oomi’s frozen body, for good.

The first tried to urge him back to the fire, to take better shelter and join the others for company.  
Osamu turned the doorknob, but before he could open it, Suna fell against his back and burrowed his face into his shoulder, shrugging off the snowflakes, wrapping his arms around Osamu’s waist.

Instantly, the grey-haired twin stopped moving.  
He didn’t question Suna, he didn’t try to shake free, simply he let him be.

“I didn’t feel anything. Except for irritation,” Suna muttered, chin resting on top of Osamu’s shoulder.  
“Does that make me a bad person?”

“I don’t know,” Osamu replied.  
“Oomi didn’t do anythin’ for us, these past few days. It’s sad, but I think we’ve already seen much worse. . .”

Suna agreed.  
He was well aware that things that would’ve scared him five days ago, didn’t scare him anymore.

Death had taken on an entirely different meaning.

Even though family members and friends could pass on, these past days they’ve been bombarded by nature’s destruction, the Earth parted underneath their feet, swallowing people whole -- a fire almost took the life of his dearest person in the world.

“. . . I want to eat ramen from our food stall,” Suna muttered, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice.  
“I want to smell sweaty uniforms, feel the leather of a used volleyball on my fingertips, hear the cicadas announce the summer.”

For some reason, Suna felt like he would never get to have any of those again.

“Me too,” Osamu nodded, “Wish I told mom ‘n dad more when I had the chance. Did more of the things I really liked to do instead of blindly followin’ ‘Tsumu.”

“Would you have wanted to open a restaurant?”  
“Eventually. Somethin’ with onigiri. . . Onigiri’s underrated.”

Suna ducked to the side, coming up in front of Osamu.

It wasn’t bright, nor wide, but he smiled, their noses brushing together as both leaned in at the same time, the pressure of Osamu’s lips against his reassuring, and warm.

He tasted the last traces of cherry, when he slipped past and licked inside the other’s mouth, tilting his head.

Osamu tensed against him, when the tips of their tongues met, wet and slick, when saliva dripped and mixed in their mouths.

Suna felt tingling in the pit of his stomach, that when led, Osamu followed and adjusted, to his movements and to his pace.

It was ecstatic.  
All those days of retaining the role of best friend just so he could stay at Osamu’s side were worth it in this very moment.

He gladly swallowed the soft, short hums his boyfriend offered him with every insistent press, until they were out of breath, swiping at their lips with the back of their hands.

“. . . ‘m feelin’ bit guilty,” Osamu declared, a murmur.  
His voice didn’t carry regret, only an attempt to turn his words into reality, into feeling truly guilty -- when he didn’t.

Nonetheless, Suna knew what he meant.  
They should feel guilty.  
He wouldn’t rationally have chosen this time or location to make out either, but it more or less just kind of happened without his intention.  
He’d wanted to kiss Osamu, and so he did.

Both tried to act the part of grieving as they reentered the group and the grim atmosphere it accompanied.

**xxx**

When Gin and Kosaku still hadn’t returned yet after a dark and quiet thirty minutes, and Suna informed Kita he hadn’t seen them inside the gas station, the third-year immediately asked him to check outside.

Suna couldn’t bring himself to even consider refusing.  
He was too tired to argue.  
Kita was at least somewhat justified at being pissed at Suna’s lackluster attempt to find the two, even though in the brunet’s opinion, the only people they should reasonably babysit were Riseki and Atsumu.

“I’ll be right back,” he hummed into Osamu’s ear, lips dragging along his cheekbone to press a chaste kiss at the juncture.

He grabbed his coat from the drying rack near the fire, pleased to find it dry and vaguely warmed.  
He went outside through the store’s front door, arms pressed to his side and hidden inside his pockets, squinting in wind as he turned his back, air bellowing his coat and ruffling his hair.

It’d stopped snowing.

The sun stood high up, reflecting on the ice and Suna could see the frozen sea from afar.

Naturally, there were no footprints to follow, and he wasn’t about to guess and bet on a direction Gin and Kosaku could’ve gone to without knowing for sure.  
Not because he thought he could get lost, but because he still waited for another disaster, for more ice to hail from the sky and for the ground to split.

And so, he stood guard at the foot of the gas station, right next to the gasoline pumps.

He scanned the horizon.

Suna guessed they might’ve taken a walk around, maybe to check out Tokyo City again from the edge, or to lose some pent up energy.

The lack of snowflakes unsettled him greatly.  
It was such a sudden change from the continuous snowstorm they’d previously found themselves in, that had killed Oomi.  
The fallen snow had provided a bit of life to the barren wasteland around them.

He should be glad, but he wasn’t.

No snowflakes.  
It opened a window of opportunities.  
As if the world now operated on a schematic, a time table.  
Snow gone, next disaster.

Two dots from the edge of the frozen sea grabbed his attention, rapidly growing in size, kicking up clouds of snowdust.

He barely had time to feel intrigued when their voices reached his ears.  
They were yelling, screaming, _something_ \-- but Suna couldn’t pick out the words, the wind cutting them off.

Gin was up front, sometimes casting glances back at Kosaku, who struggled to keep up and looked back as well, at something invincible.

Suna could see their fearful expressions then, the panic they wore, arms and legs being urged to _move move move_.

“ -- saku!” Gin yelled, again turning to look at his friend, who cried out.  
Kosaku seemed stuck, his left leg unable to move no matter how much he pulled, and it looked ridiculous enough for Suna to momentarily assume they were playing a very elaborate prank on him.

That thought left him when Kosaku’s leg glazed over, ice running up his calves, thighs and right leg, then his waist.

Suna blinked, and Kosaku had become a frozen statue of himself.

His last breath wisped past his lips and rose, and faded into the sky.

Gin choked on a cry, a gasp, unintentionally slowing down to look at the ice that had replaced his friend, _their_ friend, barely continuing onward.

Suna now knew why movies depicted fearful or scary scenes in slow-motion.  
It was because those scenes were meant to be unreal, meant to scare, but the directors didn’t want their watchers to realise this was the case.  
To keep them in the dark about the severity.

Gin tore his gaze away from Kosaku, and noticed Suna.  
Distracted, surprised.  
He tripped, the impact of his body kicking up a dust of snowflakes -- just like that, the world stood still before Suna’s presence.

GIn’s eyelids were wide open, eyes looking like they could pop out any second, pupils reduced to a small dot.

He screamed, hands reaching to grasp the cold white on the ground that gave him no leverage.

“Suna!” he yelled out, looking over his shoulder, trying to scramble up to his feet, only for the slippery layer hidden underneath the pack of snow to betray him at the last second.  
“Help me!”

The shimmering, icy blue layer took the next row of trees within seconds, the leaves crisp and still, the dark asphalt highway leading into Tokyo turning white.

Just like it’d done to Kosaku, it took Gin’s shoe, then up his ankle the ice went, freezing him to the road.

Suna stepped back, hands trembling uncontrollably as he barely registered what he saw, unable to intervene.

Later, Suna would make peace with the fact that even if he _did_ intervene, he himself would’ve died alongside Gin -- but for now, one half of his mind urged him to run over and help, the other half to run back inside the gas station.

But time didn’t stop for him, nor for Gin or anyone else.

Kosaku’s frozen body a few meters behind Ginjima was a testament to how abnormally quick this ice froze.  
It killed, within seconds, it traveled across any surface without a hitch, freezing everything in its way.

Tears sprung and rolled down Gin’s cheeks.  
His legs were frozen solid, then his waist, coated in a see-through layer.

Suna fell back against one of the pumps, gripping onto the tubes like a lifeline, scrambling to stay upright.

“I’m -- I’m sorry, Gin, _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ \--”  
His teeth tattered, his bottom lip bled and burst.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry -- ”

Gin lifted one arm, his hands reaching for Suna as if he were his last hope, his one chance.

The second-year watched as another friend, another teammate, breathed his last breath, his despair forever etched into his face, until his outstretched hand didn’t tremble, didn’t move anymore.

For whatever reason, Suna had expected the rapid ice to pause, to slow down, as if it could even make such a decision -- because two of his friends had died, and he had watched on, not taking action.

Two frozen statues lifelessly stared at him.

The ice continued to advance.

And Suna ran.

He slammed the entrance door shut and turned on his heels, sprinting between the aisles like he’d never ran before, back towards the others, to the fire, the only barrier that could save them from the enclosing ice.

Blindly reaching, bags and packages from the aisles tumbled to the ground as he ran past.  
Kita peeked around the corner questioningly, confused.

“Fire. . . !” Suna gasped, rubbing the tears away with his sleeve, looking back over his shoulder.  
“Throw more shit on that fire!”

Startled, Osamu opened his mouth to undoubtedly ask what happened, but one distressed glance from Suna made him understand now was simply not the time.

Without question, he gathered the newspapers and dumped it on top of their campfire, shuffling the papers to spread it further, to form a sort of obstacle.

Fire simply can’t be frozen.  
So as long as they created a large enough heat radius, everything else around them may freeze, but the circle of warmth is untouchable.

“What’s going on?” Catherine clutched Mia to her chest, scrambling until she sat with her back against the wall.  
“Why. . . ? What are you doing?”

“Ice,” Suna stated, pulling back the blankets and handing a few to her.  
“There’s -- It’s -- freezing.”

Akagi and Ren both hesitantly helped move the blankets, to create space for Osamu and Suna to widen the fire circle.

“Say, Aran?”  
Atsumu nervously glanced into the gas station -- the ice must’ve reached the front of the shop by now.  
“Sunarin ain’t lyin’ out of his ass, help me move!”

Previously figuratively frozen Aran finally moved, blinking in the same utter confusion everyone else basked in, gently pulling up Atsumu.  
They migrated to the back as well, next to Catherine, who watched with wide eyes.

“Suna, you found them, didn’t you?” Kita asked, not looking at him as he did, adding a few more books to the fire.  
“. . . What happened out there?”

“Kita -- ”  
Suna wanted to tell him, _not now, later_ , but then hopelessly shrugged and shook his head; he realised he was making excuses, prolonging the inevitable-- this wasn’t just about him, as it’d never been.

“They -- they were out there just taking a walk, I think. Then it became so fucking cold, and everything -- I mean literally everything -- froze. The trees, the road -- and them, too.”

Suna huddled close to Osamu, hiding in between him and Akagi, pulling up his knees as he focused on the rows of aisles in front of them.  
He knew what was coming.  
He only hoped the fire was enough, that the blazing sparks could keep the ice at bay, or else they would suffer the same fate as Gin and Kosaku.

“Gin and Kosaku -- they tried to run for it, but. . . What kind of ice can kill like that?! Kita, within seconds, they were completely frozen and _dead!_ They’re dead! Both of them!”

With unmatched horror, everyone watched as the aisles leading up to them grew a layer of frost, how snow crystals bloomed on the store windows and how the ceiling and walls froze.

It was worse than the hail.  
They’d been safe, then.  
Safe within the bus, the chunks of ice barely denting the metal.

This ice was unstoppable.  
It sped towards them, and they could only hope the fire could keep it at bay.

Above them, the ice crept down the wall they sat against, huddled around the beacon of fire.

The only sounds were their breathing.

Suna had his arms wrapped around Osamu, both of them staring at the floor and ceiling, at the icy edge.

The closer it got to the fire, the slower the frost grew, to the orange hue cast on the surfaces.

The ice broke a few inches through the soft glow of the fire, and Suna held his breath, crushing Osamu's hand between his fingers.

It stopped.  
They were surrounded by the ice that already killed Gin and Kosaku, but it stopped advancing towards them.

Everything around them was dusted in white, except for the fire’s reach.

And so, the next night fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minutes passed.  
> Osamu’s thumb swiped mindless circles across his bicep, fading in and out of slumber.  
> Sometimes Suna could hear breathing from others around him, soft and slow and shallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's my bday and what better way to celebrate than with a new update?  
> It's been a while, sorry for that! There's many things I'm working on at the same time, so this can sometimes happen~
> 
> This is not that long of a chapter because it's quite emotionally charged, and I'm treating it as a break of some sort from the plot!  
> Anyway, I'm confident next update will not take as long as this one.

Every breath they breathed, they inhaled empty coldness, numbing their throat and chest and nose.  
Every breath they breathed, they exhaled a misty, white cloud, before it even left their mouths.

The fire did almost nothing to keep up their body heat.

Suna couldn’t feel anything, not even any warmth from Osamu’s hand in his.  
As if in shock, there was nothing he wanted to feel, do or see.  
He felt as if any movement would snap his joints and break his bones, every brush crumble and tear his muscles.

He merely stared into the orange flames, reflected across the frost that closed them in from every side.  
The only colors differentiating from the white were the coats they wore and the fire.

Nobody cried, even if they could, afraid the tears would cool down within milliseconds and freeze to their skin.  
Some kept their eyes forcefully closed, but unable to fall asleep.

Plagued.

Suna considered more than a few times in these slowly passing hours to stomp out the flames and have it be over with.  
He’d selfishly take that decision for everyone else, if it meant not having to see the fire slowly wittle into tiny sparks, only to eventually burn out and leave mere charcoal behind.

Only after the fact, he thought back on everything Catherine had mentioned, and realised how she had described the almost instant freezing of the tsunami now casing in the outskirts of Tokyo into a thick layer of ice.  
They’d seen ice shards rain from the sky, turn a usually sunny landscape into a snowy mountain peak, and unseen cold freezing a tsunami mid-wave.

They could have seen this coming.

If they simply thought ahead, knowing of the disasters, and made it a rule to not leave the perimeters of the gas station without the entirety of the group knowing, they might not have died, and though slowly freezing to death wasn’t a much better option -- at least they would have been together.

Right?

Neither Kosaku nor Gin would have had to bathe in disbelief in their last moments, that Suna wasn’t going to come over and them him out, only for both of them to die.

Suna missed his father.  
He missed his estranged mother, and his half-sister who he’d only seen twice in his entire life.  
He missed coach Kurosu, he missed Kita’s lectures about being late to practice, he missed the warm hue of the food stall he and Osamu had often frequented.

What did they ever do wrong for the universe to strike down upon them all in this way? Was this simply an end they couldn’t escape, only prolonging the inevitable by staying alive?

Suna wondered what the point of them existing is, for the first time in his life.

Osamu groaned beside him, nestling up closer into his side, making no effort to keep the blanket from sliding off his shoulder.  
Wordlessly, Suna reached around him and brushed it back in place, barely able to hold the fabric between his fingers.

The cold was a slow killer, like a poison made to suffer, seeping into their bodies and defecting their organs one by one until their bodies simply couldn’t continue and stopped working.

To their left, Kita had taken it upon himself to keep Riseki close and covered, but the first-year still looked a ghastly pale, matching the walls surrounding them.  
Even Riseki, younger and arguably a bit more impressionable than them, hadn’t shed a tear, didn’t even need to bite back any emotions, because there were none.

Suna had told them, more into detail, about Gin and Kosaku.

It was easily accepted.  
As easy as they did Oomi’s death, though they all knew, a reprise would come.  
There would be a moment, if they managed to live through this night, in the far future, where they would miss Kosaku’s reliable grin and Ginjima’s fierce trust, their comradery and their presence, and nothing could mend the gap they left behind.

There had been no final goodbye’s.  
No pep-talk about going to Heaven, no speech about love or friendship or a peaceful look back on their lives.

The ice had been fast and unrelenting, and it didn’t care for sentiments.

“Rin,” Osamu whispered breathily, his drooping, tired eyes struggling to focus on Suna. He squeezed their linked hands briefly.  
“. . . Ya. . ‘ve stopped shiverin’. . .”

It took Suna more time than he would’ve liked to understand what Osamu was saying. To even notice he’d said anything in the first place.  
Sluggish, he raised his free hand out from underneath their shared blankets, and saw his boyfriend had been right -- how he noticed before Suna did, he didn’t know, but perhaps he underestimated Osamu’s perception.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Instead of the spasming, trembling fingers he expected to see, though still difficult to move any joints, his hand was calm.  
He saw the prominent bluish veins paving underneath his skin, stark against the pale layer covering it.

Suna made a questioning noise, humming as he moved from inspecting his malfunctioning hand to focusing on Osamu’s palm trembling against his own, as it should be, unlike Suna’s.

“‘s not a good thing, Rin.”  
Osamu made a great effort to shift the tiniest bit closer, sliding his hand out of Suna’s hold and snaking it up around his back instead, gripping the brunet’s shoulder and forcing Suna to curl into his slightly smaller frame.  
“. . . can’t re-remember the exact term, but. . . bad times.”

“Bad times,” Suna repeated, inhaling a sliver of Osamu’s own scent still stuck to his clothes, barely there but good enough.  
He didn’t feel like struggling or complaining about being babied.  
Instead, he embraced his situation and folded into Osamu, feeling a sudden urge to cry, but he couldn’t.

He buried his face into the crook of the Osamu’s neck, able to feel how cold his nose truly was against the warmer hue of the other’s skin, and he sighed softly.

It felt good.  
Being this close to him, covered in blankets and while wearing their winter coats, they’d look ridiculous under any other circumstance.  
But they were fighting for their lives, needing each other’s body warmth in equal exchange to not freeze to death.

“Hypothermia,” said Suna, swallowing a cold breath.  
“It’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

“Tha-that’s the one,” Osamu nodded, his head stuttering up and down briefly.  
“Ya can die from that, I think.”

“‘Samu, I’m not feeling anything painful. There are worse ways to go.”  
“Sh-shut up. I didn’t say y-ya were _going_ to die.”  
“We’re all going to die here.”  
“Rin, please sh-shut the fuck up.”

Suna pressed his nose into the nape of Osamu’s neck, softly nuzzling closer, exhaling against his collarbone. He sagged into his frame, as Osamu pulled the blanket around the both of them, though Suna didn’t feel any more warmth from it.  
He felt like a spoiled child, back into his old home in Hyōgo or even Aichi, naive and small and unaware.

Suna closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift, winding his arms around Osamu, wearing a resigned, content smile, before relaxing.

Minutes passed.  
Osamu’s thumb swiped mindless circles across his bicep, fading in and out of slumber.  
Sometimes Suna could hear breathing from others around him, soft and slow and shallow.

They all waited.  
For the same inevitability.  
Nobody had to watch it happen to others, and it was slow but painless.

Minutes passed.

Sudden rustling and fumbling made Suna open his eyes, carefully, afraid they might’ve frozen shut.  
Tiny frost particles momentarily obscured his vision, blurring and deforming the cool, bluish cast gas station.

Kita, gritting his teeth and forcing his legs to move, left whatever warmth he had accumulated and crawled close towards the faintly sparkling campfire.  
It had been reduced to a few flames surrounded in ashes, having dwindled rapidly in the last hour.

On his shuddering knees, Kita reached for one of the newspapers, trembling hands waiting for it to catch fire, before meticulously laying it down and ripping another paper out of the heap they had collected hours ago.

It caught the attention of Ren and Akagi, then, also Catherine and Atsumu’s, whose hollow expressions sparked just a bit more to life.

Kita’s breathing was harsh and labored, panting puffs of white clouds and there was desperation in his every movement.  
The newspapers lit aflame, and the fire grew.  
He toppled a tourism guide on top, and then another, and then more newspapers.

Orange and yellow reflections started to dance across the glazed floor again, bouncing onto the ceiling, and giving color to the lifeless blue that had imprisoned them.

Kita turned back and forced Riseki to shift over closer to the warmth, pushing and pulling, and then Akagi slowly followed and glanced at Atsumu, who had been wearily watching, unsure of what to think of Kita’s decision.  
Akagi helped the older Miya over, ignoring his pointedly conflicted expression.

Suna felt Osamu spring to life underneath him, almost, like a withering flower to a drop of rain.  
He heard his own joints crackle as Osamu, with Suna draped and wrapped up around him, shuffled to join their friends at the new campfire, breathed back into existence by Kita.

“We were going to die,” Aran said, voice hoarse and tired.

Everyone knew what he truly meant -- but nobody wanted to say it out loud.

_I wanted to die, and now I can’t anymore._

Catherine wordlessly wormed in between as well, with Mia peacefully sleeping in her lap, Oomi’s coat resting on her frail shoulders.

Suna felt the warmth touching his cheeks and the tips of his fingers, and he closed his eyes once more. He felt as tired as Aran had sounded. He wanted to sleep, perhaps forever, or perhaps, maybe, he wanted to see sunlight again.

“Kita,” said Atsumu, but didn’t say anything more.

Suna pulled the blanket properly around Osamu’s shoulders, making an effort to make sure he left no gaps open. He pressed his lips to his slightly flushed cheek, then kissed, feeling the flutters of Osamu’s eyelashes.

Kita’s expression wore no smile, no sign of happiness. But the slight tremble of his lips told of determination, the type one wouldn’t think to be possible in the world of today.

“Don’t you want to see what’s next?” their former captain then asked, breaking the silence underlined with the newly sparkling fire.  
All eyes were on him, unknowing of what to expect, but willing to hear, willing to be cheered up.

“There are survivors,” Kita continued, “Plain and simple.” He hugged himself, the flames reflecting orange onto his face and healthily reddening cheeks.  
“Tokyo has survivors. The world has survivors. Even if we’re stuck in this godforsaken gas station, we’re not alone. And have we ever given up?”

He exhaled softly, gaze finally lifting to properly meet theirs.

“We didn’t need memories then, so why should we now?”

After a beat, Atsumu sighed loudly, sniffing petulantly before sneezing into the elbow of his coat. He pulled up his bottom lip into a vague pout, casting a relenting glance at Kita.  
“. . . I’d be surprised if Karasuno’s Tobio hasn’t found a way through this crap, that snotty goody two-shoes.”

“. . . Imagine going to Nationals for the first time, but the world freezes over and cockblocks ya,” Akagi said, trailing into a shivery chuckle.

At the mention of the Nationals, Aran’s somber eyes lit up.  
“The Metropolitan Gym,” he started, hesitantly joining and visibly relaxing a bit, “should make a pretty strong fortress.”

Kita nodded, corners of his mouth curving upwards into a relieved, winning smile, gentle and thankful.  
“Let’s make the Gym our first stop in search of survivors, then. If everyone agrees.”

Osamu knocked his forehead into Suna’s shoulder, simply listening to everyone else talking, too tired and unbothered to keep up. Suna shifted their positions around, shuffling until he was the one holding Osamu into his arms, covering both their legs with one of the coats.

“This isn’t the end yet,” he muttered against Osamu’s ear, warmth fanning across his cheek. “Kita’s word is the new law in this snowscape.”

It seemed like Osamu finally felt safe enough to close his eyes. Whether because of the newfound warmth, the hopeful remarks made by everyone else or maybe, Suna dared to hope, because of him -- Osamu merely hummed to show he’d heard, dozing off.

The air felt heavy with exhaustion, and newly forged bonds.  
They weren’t going to give up again -- Suna thought for sure, that this night would be the worst one they had to face, and despite everything they’ve seen and gone through and missed and lost, he couldn’t imagine a worse mentality than the one they just tentatively rose up out of.

“Get some rest,” Kita called, his cheeks rosy with healthy warmth, “We’re going to travel across the frozen tsunami tomorrow, to what remains of Tokyo City.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow and chat with me on Instagram [@irusu_u3](https://www.instagram.com/irusu_u3/) where I do art or on Twitter [@irusu_u3](https://twitter.com/irusu_u3) for fic wips!


End file.
